Together We Stand
by jenskott
Summary: A what-if where Xavier and Magneto prefered working together insted of fighting at each other. How would change the Marvel Universe?
1. Part One First Warning

  
  
Together We Stand  
  
Author: Jenskott Summary: A What-If where Xavier and Magneto elected working together instead fighting at each other. How would be the Marvel Universe?  
Notes: I've been in a writer's block, but now new ideas are coming again. I'm going to end Shifting Times, but is a bit hard continue some of my other stories right now.  
Similarities to the Marvel timeline and AOA saga will be fully intended. Similarities to Evolution, Ultimate and Movie universes won't be, though.  
Rating: PG-13. At least for now.  
Disclaimer: They're Marvel's. But I'm treating them well.  
Feedback: To But isn't necessary you write me telling me what you think or to correct my flimsy English. Really, don't take the effort to type a pair of lines... What do you mean with reverse psychology?  
  
Part One. First Warning-  
  
Logan halted his stride in front of the solid door of oak, pausing to stare thoughtfully at the varnished wood of maroon color. His roughened hand lingered on the plank as he dwelt on the changes he'd experienced and the life he led now. Shaking his head, he knocked softly on the door. A mental invitation answered to the dull rapping of his knuckles, and he pushed the knob.  
  
The room was filled with the shimmer of the early sunlight flowing through the large windows, lighting with its clarity the rich furniture, mainly the desk and the library with its long sheaves full of thick books and portfolios. Charlie was leaned over the table -not that he expected otherwise-, scrabbling in paper leaves. Grading reports, probably.  
  
After some seconds without apparently acknowledging his existence, the Professor looked up, with a haggard smile tilting his corners' lips up. "Welcome, Logan. Forgive me for getting you awaiting for me, but-"  
  
"Never mind, Charlie" He cut off warily. He had taken notice, when he went into, of the aspect the Professor displayed. Dazed, weary, fainted. Like someone who hasn't slept pretty time. His eyes, bleary and with dark bags below them, confirmed that suspect. Again he was overworking, forgetting of sleeping or resting. "Why had you called me earlier?"  
  
Charles Xavier rubbed his eyes with his backhand, struggling for focusing his mind. Just like Logan had guessed, he was tired and half-asleep. "Because I need you tell them to the students come to class. I know this can be annoying, but I'm feeling me unwell and-"  
  
Logan shook his head heavily. Feeling me unwell. What euphemism. Other than smelling his fatigue, he had glanced sideways the empty bottle of headache pills by his side. The third that week -and today was Thursday morning- if his memory served correctly. Those kids were going to kill him if the job or the lacking of sleep didn't it first. "Without troubles, Charlie. But make me a favor and get yourself a break from the work sometime. Otherwise you'll end up six feet underground any day."  
  
"I'll take that under advice, Logan. Good-bye" The Professor said off-handily before returning to his papers. He finished correcting, and began to sort them out before transmitting them to a folder. "Oh. And thanks you."  
  
"They're for nothing." Logan mumbled, turning the doorknob and heading outside. When the door shut, stirring the air with a faint noise, he sighed. He had very little faith in his promises when they involved resting. The man was constantly testing his limits and resistance. One of his hands threaded resignedly along his raven and ruffled hair.  
  
Of course those five hellions weren't any help, he thought balefully. He had a soft spot for those children, but all of them together were potentially more destructive than a nuke. However Charlie had request his aid to teach them to use theirs heads and develop theirs skills to survive when the imminent tempest came. A worthy cause. And he was forever indebted with Charles and Erik. They had rescued him from the Weapon-X facility, and saved his life, his soul, his very sanity with it. He could never pay back that. Charlie not only had given him back his freedom, but also he had tried restoring his fragmented and skewed memory. He'd only recovered patches, flashes of his former life, but at least he wasn't a blank slate anymore.  
  
With a sigh, James Logan, Ph. Ed. teacher in the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters -said otherwise, combat instructor- began to stride towards the bedrooms. Yes, a lot had changed in his life that last year.  
  
He started with the girls' side. In this instance, girl.  
  
He kicked open the door violently, without knocking beforehand, and rushed inside hastily.  
  
The sixteen-year Jean Grey raised her head from her book and greeted him with a cheerful albeit surprised exclamation on her mouth. She was sat on one chair, with her nightgown clinging loosely around her body, and the long locks of her red hair flowing over her shoulders as a cascade of fire.  
  
She stared at him with a perfect mixture of innocence and confusion on her face. Tilting her head, quirking her thin brows and batting twice her eyelashes while her cherry lips shaped a 'o'. A perfect, uncanny mask of lovely naiveté. Actually it might have even worked if she hadn't used it formerly and he hadn't heard very clearly the muffled sound of she sitting hurriedly on her stool just when he stormed in.  
  
"Jeannie" He uttered in an incongruously mild voice, laced with saccharine. That tone got to Jean automatically suspicious. And scared. "You'd sure read that book better if it wasn't upside-down."  
  
He snickered inwardly seeing to Jean blanching before turning around her reading frantically. A blush burnt on her cheeks. "I-I'm practicing my fast-lecture level." She stammered.  
  
"While you do that, maybe you want to cover up those purple nicks on your neck." He uttered casually. She gasped, startled, and her hand rushed to hid the trail of violet bruises marking her collarbone's fair skin. He didn't pay her attention, though, but he stomped past her, stopping in front of her bed. Logan folded together his arms and tapped his foot angrily on the floor.  
  
"That trick would only work with the Bobby's bed, where the stench of filthy socks chokes my nose. Get out right away!"  
  
After seconds of strained silence, the seventeen-year Scott Summers crawled out of his hideout beneath the bed. His pajamas and hair were laden with filth and dirt, and the visible part of his face sported a sheepish expression. At least he got the decency of seeming ashamed.  
  
He stared at the young, brown-haired boy with a stormy countenance. He was mightily angry, but not only for their conduct, but also because they should know better to think he could buy that farce.  
  
At least both of them were dressed. Fine, or else he would have to kill Scott.  
  
"You're appointed to class. Scott, get a shower first." He stated gravely, and whirled to face the exit. "Meanwhile don't make anything I wouldn't. Or that I would." He rushed to add before banging the door.  
  
Scott blinked, ungluing some specks of dirt of his short bangs, and stared thoughtfully at the door. Then his look swiveled at Jean, with one eyebrow arched behind his goggles and a faint grin. She writhed with anticipation. It was THAT grin.  
  
"I believe he's just given us permission to make whatever." He stated, extending his hand to take her own.  
  
She sat up, smirking lustfully. "A true gentleman never kisses a dame when he's so dirty and stinky."  
  
Jean kissed him tenderly. Outside someone groaned, but they ignored it.  
  
Outside Logan was clutching his skull between his hands and considering ramming it into the wall. Damned teens were going to kill him someday. At least both of them were responsible and wouldn't make anything before they were enough adult to deal with it -castration would be carried out otherwise-. Yes, he ought to be thankful by the little favors, like Charlie told. Although it was ironical. Before they couldn't keep their hands off each other because they were so edgy they came to blows every time they were together. After Scott got enough balls to declare, they couldn't keep theirs hands off each other either. And his sanity longed for the old times, when they crumbled whole rooms in dust.  
  
He began to walk away, when Bobby Drake turned hastily the corner and rushed to shelter and shrivel behind him. Logan noticed, jokingly, his brunette hair was still singed and hadn't grown back yet. From now the kid would think twice before stepping into the lab when Hank was laughing maniacally.  
  
"Protect me" The fourteen-year -going on five- kid whined.  
  
Warren Worthington appeared right after, blazing with fury. Logan gave him a perplexed -and amused- look. It looked like if someone had dumped a bucket loaded with tar on his head, and after burst several pillows. Hs body part where there were fewer feathers was his ivory wings.  
  
His eyes squinted at Bobby. Ire distorted his handsome features, and a high-pitched howl erupted out of his mouth. "Drake! When I am through with you, I swear-" He raged.  
  
"You deserve it right." Bobby shouted back, shrinking further behind Wolverine. Even though he was very frightened of Warren, he couldn't keep a delightful snicker out of his voice. "So you'll learn to not tie me and lock me in the basement cause I'm spying on your dates to spoil them..."  
  
"Oh, I learnt something, all right" Warren bristled. "If you really want getting rid from a plague, exterminate it at your first chance. I reckon this time I'll tie you to a radiator and I'll watch the fun!"  
  
The winged, seventeen-year and usually blonde boy lunged on Bobby, but he stopped abruptly when Logan stepped in between, spreading his arms and putting up the fists warningly. "Very well, it's enough-"  
  
His words died on his lips when he saw to Henry McCoy passing by swiftly. The eighteen-year student was perusing attentively and thoroughly each corner, while one of his hands wielded a fishnet, sewn with barbed wire instead rope strings. Another of his hands brandished a weapon Logan acknowledged as a rifle used for zoo guardians. It shot darts capable of anesthetizing an elephant. Hank had probably assembled it during his spare-time.  
  
"Hank?" He called aloud, and the boy stopped, tilting slightly his head. So he intended showing he was in a hurry and had no time to stay and chat. It failed utterly with Logan. "What are you up now?"  
  
The young man looked pensively at Logan, after at his fishnet, back to Logan, and then sighed, defeated. "I fear it has escaped again from my watching, Sir."  
  
A minute of tense, deafening silence.  
  
"IT?" Screamed three voices at once.  
  
"I thought you had finished off that thing!" Logan roared.  
  
"You said it would never get out again!" Bobby shouted.  
  
"How could you let it escaped?" Warren yelled. "The last time it tried killing us in our beds!"  
  
Logan frowned a glared sideways at the kids. They had all but confessed they not only had allowed to Hank keep that thing but also had helped him. Interrogatory and punishment would be conducted later.  
  
"Y-yes" Hank, who usually ranted with long and flowery speeches, stuttered. Wordless for once. "I was certain of the confinement in that bulletproof glass jar would preserve my find till the world was prepared to it, but a chemical explosion shattered the glass and it sprang out of its jail and sneaked in an air duct before I was able of restrain it. Right now I was seeking it..."  
  
"We have to find it!" Bobby squealed, shivering with panic twisting in his guts. He remembered when it bit him once. He'd been bedridden one entire week, sick of whatever disease it infected him with.  
  
"No! It's too vicious and dangerous to you!" Logan roared. A snikt sliced the air and sharp blades slid out of theirs sockets on the forearms. "You go to class. I'll look for it."  
  
The kids stared at him for seconds, but elected no arguing. They knew what Logan was like when he was set. With a shrug, each one marched to their respective headquarters to shower and dress.  
  
Logan bolted swiftly towards the lab, actually hoping sniffing the trail of his prey. He could feel the thrill of the hunt throbbing and rushing along his veins.  
  
However he wondered if his life wouldn't be easier if he wasn't working with the Magneto's crew. Probably. But more bored too.  
  
Mountain Wundagore. A steer peak of jagged stone, with walls of flat rock, ledges of razor borders and handholds of craggy rubble. Hidden in the innermost Balkans, only vultures, eagles and ravens dared to nestle on its vertical cliffs.  
  
Within the mountain, Magneto wondered if his life wouldn't be easier if he wasn't educating to the Charles' pupils. Agreed his methods sought different goals -Charles taught to control the skills instead of to stomp their limits-, but his students were more docile and trusted in his wisdom. He had to deal with overconfident mutants, too proud of their abilities to pay attention to his advises gladly.  
  
However he couldn't repress a pang of pride as he contemplated on his monitor to his troops run through the program he had made up in the Danger Room. Ha. Danger Room. Charles had stifled a guffaw when he heard it. And then he had questioned his need for dramatizing.  
  
On the battleground several towering humanoids of golden and silvery metal advanced heavily, waving menacingly the assassin weapons inserted on their long limbs and shaking the floor with each thundering step. The monsters of twelve-feet of height cornered the team, and cocked simultaneously theirs lasers and plasma rifles, aiming at the group. Cybernetic eyes locked on theirs targets, and guns started to hum with energy coalescing.  
  
One second earlier they shot Quicksilver had bolted in a sprint and had circled ten times the robots, moving with a speed no machine could keep up. Transformed in blue blur of speed, Pietro dashed around the droids in swift loops, once and over until the wind his sprint generated transformed in a swirling twister sucked the looming robots in its tendrils. Wanda, dressed in a skimpy scarlet bodysuit, hurled a probability-altering bolt on the vortex, and it blew up.  
  
Men-like robots were tossed outwards by the shockwave and slammed brutally on the walls. Many were shattered with the impact, and their wrecked pieces rolled along the floor, but some were trying rising up still, tottering dangerously on bent and broken legs, with sparks sizzling and crackling out of frayed cables. Then a shadow covered them, and ruthless fists of tough steel rained over them. As Piotr ravaged the battered robots, pummeling them into scraps of twisted metal, Psylocke watched over his broad back, taking down every android without using her telepathy. Her ninjutsu was rather to make a difference. However the blonde British psychic didn't detect a last robot, crawling over the tiles only with its hands since its lower body was missing, and aiming a rifle towards her head.  
  
A cloud of black brimstone exploded loudly above it. A three-fingered hand slid out of the smoke, grabbed its arm, and vanished back in the thick smog. The cloud reappeared instantly twenty feet in midair, and the device dropped out of it. As it shattered on the floor, Kurt Wagner hopped on a wall, sticking on it with his four limbs as he grinned wolfishly.  
  
So absorbed and drawn in the training was Magneto, enthralled in the display of skill, he nearly missed the red light flashing and blaring in another of the screens. Disturbed and lightly disgusted, Erik approached to the computer.  
  
Color was drained of his roughened face, and he combed backwards his grey-silvery hairs with one hand.  
  
This was bad. Very bad.  
  
A trembling finger turned a panel on. A comm. link with the USA. He needed warn to Charles.  
  
End Part One.  
  
In the next Part the two groups gather to face the ultimate threat. Who is it? 


	2. Part Two Baptism on the Morning Fire

  
  
Together We Stand  
  
Author: Jenskott Summary: A What-If where Xavier and Magneto elected working together instead fighting at each other. How would be the Marvel Universe?  
Notes: Thanks for your reviews! Please, keep sending them! Though I've to explain two details: First, the tale is based ONLY upon canon comic, with AoA references; Second, in the official chronology Xavier was crippled during a bout with an alien, shortly after having met to the Shadow King and Magneto, but before founding the X-Men. To the purposes of this tale, it hasn't happened yet. In the next chapter you'll understand the reason.  
Rating: PG-13. At least for now.  
Disclaimer: They're Marvel's. But I'm treating them well.  
Feedback: To But isn't necessary you write me telling me what you think or to correct my flimsy English. Really, don't take the effort to type a pair of lines... What do you mean with reverse psychology?  
  
Part Two. Baptism on the Morning Fire-  
  
"- And I expect your best conduct. Understood? Your BEST conduct."  
  
"Yes, sir" Five synchronized voices chorused. Neither of them sounded as if they meant it. He glared warningly, menacingly, at the five reckless teenagers lined up in a row.  
  
Logan nearly guffawed with the sight of Charles Xavier pacing in circles in front of his disciples, as a caged panther ready to clamp his jaws around whoever prodded him. The man had been nervous and edgy since the Erik's call, situation worsened by his early migraine. He didn't blame him for getting upset or alarmed, especially if what he'd heard off-handily was true, but yelling at the kids wouldn't help.  
  
The seven of them were gathered in the front lawn, warmed by the sun and refreshed by the breeze blowing and sweeping across the verdant sod, awaiting patiently the Magneto's arrival. The day was beautiful but neither of them was in mood to worship the nature. Scott and Jean were glancing fixedly at the front, linking hands furtively, Warren and Bobby were studying the snowy clouds, and Hank smiled nervously and pretended paying attention so the Professor didn't peer in his head.  
  
"My best conduct, all right." Jean mulled sarcastically through her teeth "Better they be in THEIRS"  
  
"Jeannie, please" Scott pleaded, praying inwardly for peace and tranquillity. No likely to happen.  
  
Xavier raised one eyebrow. "Why are you feeling such hostility towards the second team, Jean?"  
  
Bobby raised one hand, earning his curious attention. "It's because that blonde chick is hot for Slim and that brunette babe has a crush on him, and Red is burning in jealousy" He backed down a little when Jean hurled him a venomous, smoldering leer. "What is the trouble? It's right!"  
  
Jean kept on glaring. Bobby began slowly to squirm, fidget and babble. Hank wondered if he would melt and they'd have to mop up the puddle. Scott groaned and palmed his forehead in exasperation.  
  
"Don't blame to yourself, Slim." Warren chirped with a wicked grin. "It isn't your fault you're a suave, slick magnet to hot ladies. You catch them without trying."  
  
"Good-looking, athletic-built, quiet, responsible, loyal to a fault. The alluring atmosphere of mystery the shades compel. The fruition you reject the stupidity with. Your way of despising buxom but brainless bimbos." Hank mocked mischievously. "How are the fine damsels supposed to resist?"  
  
"Guys, make me a favor" Scott massaged his temples. He felt so, so tired "and SHUT THE FUCK UP!"  
  
"That's an excellent idea" Xavier bristled. His students glanced at the bulged vein was throbbing on his temple and recoiled in fear. "I'm sorry be harsh, but you must work together and act like adults instead of quarrelsome children if you hope stand up to the incoming danger and survive. Understood?" He paused and glared sharply at each one. A heavy, ashamed silence had gagged their mouths.  
  
Scott raised one tentative, hesitant arm. "Yes, Scott?"  
  
"Sir, I'm a firm believer of the team work, but I think to beat our enemy we need anything else. How know who it is or what it wants." He stated dryly, with thick and very badly concealed sarcasm.  
  
The Professor blinked, nonplussed. A warm, chagrined smile split his roughened face. "You're right, Scott. I was as obsessed with your behavior I forgot explain your mission. I apologize for it. Now I'll tell you who is your foe, and why we must triumph over him." Stares of eager, engrossed and unwavering attention had substituted the former absent-mindedness, and he nodded with satisfied approval.  
  
"It began shortly after meeting me with Erik in Israel. At that time he and me argued about the next step on the human evolution and the possible consequences of the interaction between both branches of the tree. Both of us foresaw mayhem and conflict, but our opinions differed about the way of avoiding it. Whereas I was already thinking about educating to the people, my skeptical friend defended the only way of guaranteeing a peaceful future to the mutants was becoming the dominant class. However it all changed a day, after of a bout with a nazi criminal. A man visited us in the night to make us an odd proposal..."  
  
"Charlie, I'm sorry cutting you off now you were getting in the interesting part" Logan interjected abruptly "But they're arriving"  
  
He flung his arm Eastwards, where a dark dot stood out on the blue sky. Gradually its shape grew until becoming a large and sleek black flight of pointed nose streaked across the clouds leaving behind a trail of greyish smoke. The plane halted its tracks above of them, rumbling with the hellish noise of its engines burning fuel, and it performed a horizontal landing, whipping the grassland with the whirlwind generated its turbines.  
  
When its wheels touched solid ground the humming ceased. Smoothly the upper hatch slid open, and an ominous and shadowed figure, clad in crimson clothes, floated out of the cockpit, resting his boots on the floor. Erik Lensherr immediately gave a warm hug to Charles, and looked over the young mutants with thorough interest. They greeted him respectfully.  
  
Five mutants disembarked afterwards. They were clad in individual suits of varied shades of red and blue, a stark contrast to the blue-and-golden uniforms the Scott's team wore. Two of them, Betsy and Wanda, had barely spotted to Scott Summers when dashed hurriedly towards him.  
  
Scott had barely spotted them when he withdrew behind Jean with a squeal and a panicked, horror-stricken expression. Jean sensed his mental plead and nodded, spreading outwards her arms and clenching tightly her fists, mirroring a human barricade. Her eyes glowed like green embers, showing how enraged she was, and her lips curled upwards, letting out a seething snarl. Her message was unmistakably clear.  
  
"Butts out." She grated. "This is my hunt territory. And the season is closed."  
  
"I don't see a label with 'Property of Jean Grey' printed on it!" Wanda retorted sourly.  
  
"Do you prefer a cartel hung around his neck then?"  
  
"Wait a minute, girls! Hasn't the prize any said in this matter?"  
  
"NO!" Both chorused.  
  
Betsy pierced to Jean with a squinted glare. She curled a finger around a blonde strand, and sneered contemptuously. "Pretty costume, Jean. I'd never be seen in public with those rags, but they suit you."  
  
Jean glared back balefully. "Thanks, Betsy. Unlike other people I promote cozy outfits rather skimpy clothes spread a chauvinist, superficial image of the women everywhere. Aren't you a little chilly?"  
  
"Are you listening to yourselves? You resemble three-years fighting over a plastic toy" Wanda scolded tartly to both, a tad ashamed herself of her own childishness. Abruptly she walked around Jean and smiled whole-heartily to Cyclops. "Poor Scott. You must suffer so much, chased by women so violent."  
  
"I resent that!" Jean protested. "I'm not violent, only snappy and temperamental!"  
  
"I SAID 'YOUR BEST CONDUCT'!" Xavier and Magneto roared simultaneously. Logan just looked away, locking his grey eyes on the grass and trying very hard pretending he wasn't chuckling.  
  
Magneto took off his helmet and sighed. He felt as much weariness as impatience. "We can't afford waste time in petty arguments. We need get aboard of the plane and attack the enemy."  
  
The girls had been bickering so enthusiastically one minute earlier lowered their head, getting the decency of feeling abashed. The Professor stepped forward, laying one hand on the Scott's shoulder. "Erik is right. You must forget rivalries and act like mature persons, or helpless people shall die. I'll feel very disappointed with you if that's the case."  
  
His disciples looked warily, quizzically at him. "We, sir?" Scott queried. "Aren't you coming along?"  
  
He shook off his head. "No, Logan may lead you on battle with more expertise than me by far. I will be more useful observing the situation afar. Besides, I intend evaluating your performance."  
  
Magneto perused carefully his old friend as he coped patiently with the protests or pleads of his students. Quietly he was meditating on his judgment. Charles wasn't a good physical fighter, but his powers allowed him operating out of enemy's range. And it was a good idea keeping to someone watching over the nearest shelter. On the whole it was a fit, reliable plan, perfectly acceptable.  
  
Then why was he feeling that nagging, foreboding hunch, that spike of ice stabbing his guts and spreading its numbing chilliness within him, frightening him and warning him with a frosty whisper anything was about of going awfully awry?  
  
The sun had dawned clear and bright on Cape Citadel. On the heavily guarded military base, the musical chirping of the birds was swiftly substituted by the human noises of a camp waking up. Under the dense, steaming heat, soldiers ran around and sentinels filled their sentry boxes. Men and women got ready to face another bored, uneventful day.  
  
Suddenly a shadowed, massive shape cloaked a shred of the sky. The sun seemed darken and its rays turn gloomier with its advent. The sizzling air turned more viscous, thicker, it almost trembled. Humans, animals stood frozen and silent, feeling a bottomless horror gripping them with sharp clutches.  
  
Gradually the initial shock wore off, and the startled camp sprang in action. Soldiers ran everywhere as alarms and loudspeakers blared.  
  
Unbeknownst to them, in the heart of the warship, wicked eyes gleaming with ruthlessness and greed and lust and all is evil and obscene in the world were observing to the men and women. From that towering viewpoint, they resembled scared ants, scattered everywhere on a bizarre ant's nest of metal, writhing and running uselessly for cover. A thick tongue licked in anticipation dry lips and glistening fangs.  
  
A ramp expanded outwards. And storming out of the gate, The Beast, followed by The Death, The War, The Pestilence and The Famine, rode from the sky to harvest human souls.  
  
Resistance was overwhelmed in a matter of seconds. Defenses were shattered, disbanded and stomped, and the compound was invaded. Weapons and strategies were useless. Bravery and tenacity didn't make any difference. The soldiers ran away or perished. And an ominous, sticky silence floated afterwards. A deafening calm after the chaos of screams, explosions and rains of bullets. The calm of the death.  
  
And the majestic and foreboding battleship hang on the sky, held by an immeasurable pride.  
  
The army had been mobilized hastily, and had instantly laid siege on the area. But nobody had managed violating the perimeter. Missiles and grenades hadn't scratched a dent on the armor of the ship, jets had been destroyed by a barrage of fireballs when they attacked the craft, tanks had been smashed when they rolled towards the base, and the squads had broken into the zone had been massacred. The generals were considering employing nukes. Some suggested even ask help to some New Yorker super-heroes.  
  
Helplessness and pessimism overwhelmed them when a black plane came from the North.  
  
Pain. It was the Creed's first coherent though passed through the haze numbing his brain. A pain wrecked his body as he was slammed repeatedly on the walls. His healing factor was already taking care of the bodily harm, but it didn't lessen the brain damage. That Candra bitch was slashing viciously inside his skull, ripping it wildly in bleeding pieces as his body was frozen by her powers.  
  
Maybe he should have shut his mouth, but it was a simple, inane, unchallenging comment. When they'd taken over the base, and linked a monitor with the ship's comm. system, he had gloated to the boss over 'his' success. Blue-Lips had grinned broadly -or he supposed it was a grin- and had ordered launch the nukes stored in the base. Shock and confusion gripped him. He believed they were going to blackmail to the Government with those missiles. After all, he was in this operation for money. Kill was a chore he preferred make personally, with his fangs and claws, tasting the salty blood smearing his hands. Bombs or guns were antiseptic, cold and boring.  
  
He had voiced aloud his disappointment, and the boss had deemed him weak and merciful -HIM!-, had revoked his command, and ordered to Candra fry him with her powers.  
  
She had been trying it with a passion and tenacity noteworthy. Victor suspected she wasn't fond of him.  
  
"Cease!" Abruptly he listened to the boss' voice, as deep and booming as ever, reverberating on the entire place. Everybody froze and automatically whirled to face the screen. "New forces are arriving to battle you. Mutants defend to the weak ones instead of embracing their true nature. You will terminate them now." He glanced briefly at Sabertooth. "Perhaps you can redeem yourself. If you combat and annihilate our foes, I'm willing granting you a second opportunity."  
  
A second opportunity? A bone thrown to the dog. And if it catches it in midair, a pat on its crown Victor snarled inwardly. I say one word he dislikes it, and he orders rip off my head. But if he needs me and I do whatever he wants, he'll forgive me He simmered with the idea of someone talking down him, dealing him like that, but he was aware of which were his options. Or lacking thereof.  
  
"I'm glad of we agree at last, General Ross" Magneto stated, procuring masking his inward amusement. Charles had asked them they tried convincing to the army, despite of his preference for going, seeing, winning and retiring. He liked undercover action. Besides, he didn't bear dealing with bureaucrats. He didn't tolerate people too stuck on their standard procedures to act efficiently when it was required.  
  
The general -an old military man, with thick mustache, snowy hair on his head and a skin tanned and rugged by the sun and the rain- brushed his eyes with a tired, fatigued gesture. "All right, all right. You get fifteen minutes, clowns. I should get my head revised. I can't figure out how you have talked me into this."  
  
Jean and Betsy were finding very interesting the cobbles resting on the dust.  
  
"X-Men, follow my lead!" Erik roared, flapping violently his cloak. He strode imperiously towards the fence, a twisted and stomped tangle of irons, and his team kept up with him effortlessly.  
  
They trespassed cautiously the gap on the frontier, and headed for the living quarters, navigating carefully amidst piles of debris and blackened, bowel-shaped craters. The tall towers loomed over them as menacing spears, casting long shadows blended with the penumbra emanated from the giant ship floating on the sky, stationary and immovable as a rock.  
  
Of sudden the Jean's shocked surprise and anguished fear seeped as liquid flares in the all's minds, and she rushed to place herself in front of Magneto, spreading onwards her palms. Erik saw the air shimmering with red light, and he added instinctively his own magnetic shield.  
  
A force bolt struck the energy defense, dispelling harmlessly in purple sparks flickered weakly on the air. Its power was considerable, but it wasn't match to the cloak woven with of strands of telekinesis and magnetism entwined together.  
  
"That was as pitiful as stupid, Candra. We lost the surprise factor by your fault."  
  
"It wasn't my fault, Gideon! I didn't believe that stupid child would find me with a simple scan."  
  
"Who gives a damn about the fucking advantage, morons? We can beat them anyhow."  
  
The X-Men stared upwards. Standing upright on a roof, five figures were situated. One of them was a blonde woman, of unnatural but sinister beauty. Another was a bulky and broad man, with his green hair braided in a plait, staring contemptuously to the group. The person beside him was a young girl, with black and brittle hair, so slim that her yellow skin clung loosely to the bones, as a wraith's. The fourth was an old woman, with short grey hair and wrinkled face where pin-sized pupils shot sharp and baleful glares. All of them were wearing a body-fitting, copper-colored armor glittered weakly on the dazzling sunlight. And in front of them was their leader, a beast-like man, very big and tall, of leonine head and a powerful musculature rippled beneath his tight black-and-saffron outfit. His fingers were topped with tough and razor nails capable of splitting bones. And when he grinned mischievously -a disturbing sight-, his long and sharp fangs glistened.  
  
Some X-Men recoiled in fear. He saw them, sensed it, and tasted it greedily.  
  
However dread was the exact opposite to the emotion he aroused in one person. Logan narrowed his grey eyes and looked askance at him, clenching and unclenching his fists spasmodically. God, his claws itched terribly beneath the skin. Unknown and murky shadows were waking and stirring in the pit of his head where his memories had been buried. His skull beat with brisk flashes of blood and death and iciness and hate. Noise of wretched pleads and cruel laughs burst into his mind. He felt sick and dizzy.  
  
"Have we met earlier?" He wondered. Wheezing laboriously. Words stood stuck in his throat.  
  
The blonde man that ignited in him such hostility, such resentment, peered at his face intensely. When his eyes connected, something clicked and Logan was downright certain he had known him. "Look, it's the runt. Do you mean you don't remember me? I'm insulted." He sniggered.  
  
The word runt. Pointed claws slid with nearly painful slowness out of their sockets. "But we weren't chummy, were we?" He growled, his words leaving a taste to bile in his mouth. His head began to thump with a migraine, and he quelled down the treacherous lump of rage threatening spilling out. Yet not. He couldn't let out the beast yet.  
  
"You get that right, at least. We never were." He laughed. "I'm Victor Creed, Sabertooth to my victims. And these buddies backing me are Death, War, Famine and Pestilence. Our boss is sat cozily on his ship right now" His claw signaled the craft hovering overhead "watching us beating your butts."  
  
"Yes, and we'll get fireworks to party afterwards" The young and emaciated teenager named Famine smirked, showing her rows of yellowish and carious teeth "Blowing up our toys at any city we choose"  
  
Candra sucked her breath and unleashed an energy bolt in her head. She moaned, feeling her brain in fire.  
  
"Idiot, petulant brat" Pestilence hissed. "You should have shut up your mouth! They didn't know!"  
  
Magneto strode forward determinedly. "It wouldn't make any difference. Because we shall ruin your plans, whatever they be."  
  
Sabertooth narrowed his eyes one second, and yelled orders to his troops. "Scatter and protect the bombs! Fast! These assholes mustn't come near from them!"  
  
The four Horsemen nodded reluctantly and leapt out of the triangular roofing. Swiftly they sprinted among the huts, heading for the center of operations.  
  
Erik cursed bitterly and spun around to face his team. "They intend dividing us to kill us separately, but we shall prove useless their strategy! We shall split in groups, search them and win! Quicksilver, Cyclops, we shall raid the command center and deal with whoever protects it!"  
  
"Hold your horses, bucket-head" Sabertooth growled. "You aren't going to anywhere but six feet underground. The only question here is who I'll gut first."  
  
With a gigantic jump, Creed took off and rotated in midair to pounce on Magneto. But a blue blur dived towards him and struck his face several dozens of times before tossing him face down on the ground.  
  
Pietro pulled down his speed and landed softly, glaring with utter contempt to the mutant. Logan smirked, wondering how proud Magneto would be from him, and folded his knees in preparation. "I'll look after of the trash! You take care of the important part!" He screamed, and launched his body onward.  
  
Erik nodded, and instantly the X-Men divided forces to chase the Horsemen. Victor Creed pondered on stopping them when a flurry of slashes rained on him. Wincing with the searing hurt on his flesh, he parried every blow as his inner beast craved for slicing to Logan in ribbons. Very soon he was ripping and biting with delightful enthusiasm. The mission, the X-Men, anything but the fight had vanished in any remote corner of his mind.  
  
Stationed several hundreds of meters atop of the base, the ship remained still and motionless, with its metallic blue fuselage shining with the sunny day. An improperly cheerful picture getting in mind the being lurked within that flying headquarters.  
  
In an inner room, a monitor was displaying the fight between Sabertooth and Wolverine. The screen zoomed insistently on his face of infinite pleasure and raving rage. Lust and fury ruled over him, primal emotions driving him and pushing him forward. It was obvious he existed to the battle.  
  
He smirked. Of course he wasn't pleased with his conduct, but he was willing being lenient, valuing the berserker madness he fought with. He could forge him in a useful tool after all.  
  
Though that matter was a secondary one, far below his notice. His mind was now busy perusing and analyzing the bigger picture. The first phase of his master plan was set on motion.  
  
"The ascension now begins" His voice rumbled. "May only the fittest ones survive."  
  
That character is, of course, the General 'Thunderbolt' Ross, character of 'The Incredible Hulk'. Remember this is the Marvel Universe.  
  
Next Part: The X-Men battle to the Apocalypse's minions. However an ugly surprise will be awaiting them in their home, not matter the outcome of the fight. 


	3. Part Three Victory and Loss

Together We Stand

Author: Jenskott

Summary: A What-If where Xavier and Magneto elected working together instead fighting at each other. How would be the Marvel Universe?

Notes: I'll repeat: This is NOT based on the Evoverse. My only knowledge of X-Men: Evolution comes from fanfiction, since the show wasn't aired where I live. All right, Logan is a teacher -it seemed me a good idea-, but that's it. The Xavier's team is the original plus Wolverine, and the Magneto's team gets members of AoA, plus Psylocke. Two of the Horsemen showed in X-Factor and the remainder three in AoA.

Rating: PG-13. At least for now.

Disclaimer: They're Marvel's. But I'm treating them well.

Feedback: To But isn't necessary you wrote me telling me what you think or to correct my flimsy English. Really, don't take the effort to type a pair of lines... What do you mean with reverse psychology?

Part Three. Victory and Loss-

"EAT THIS, BITCH!"

A comet-like river of blazes struck a crystalline shield with vicious brutality. Candra, Horsewoman of the Death, recoiled with the impact and sucked air to stifle a whimpering moan.

When she had sensed mentally the presence of the three X-girls together, a predatory and mischievous grin had lit up her features and she squatted behind an empty shaft to lurk her preys. Her resentment regarding the insolent orange-haired brat had anticipated and parried her attack was swallowing her whole. She dwelt dejectedly on why an external was forced to waste one second of her prolonged life stalking infants behind of a wall. But when The Egyptian had summoned her to offer her a major pawn role, her only choices were obeying him or dying painfully. En Sabah Nur, the self-named Apocalypse, was as immortal as she was, but far older and way mightiest. She couldn't win that battle.

Nonetheless her plans had gone somewhat awry when she attacked her victims. And she wondered, as her telekinetic bubble withstood and deflected a power storm, if she could actually win this battle.

A flaming claw lifted her shield and herself in the air and smashed her in a column. With enough strength to bend steel like cardboard. She restrained a howl and tottered unsteadily. Candra shook off her dizziness quickly, clenched her fists and ignoring her aching joints flew forward with rocket-like surge. Boiling anger fueled her.

Jean and Betsy sidestepped swiftly, and with a fluid motion, spun around and shoot twin mental blasts.

Candra dispelled them in the last moment with other force shield, and gasped. Where had found Xavier that girl? The child was ridiculously young, barely one decade and half, but her power was massive. She needed her entire might to repel her mental attacks. And when she set careful traps, the child located them and incinerated them at once. And she never fell twice in the same trick. A quick learner besides mighty. She didn't recall any telepath capable of matching her. Perhaps Xavier or the Shadow King. They had to slay her here and now, before she reached her full potential and became a true bother. Regretfully she was aware of her chances were slim.

She wasn't her only trouble, though. Since her full power and skill were used against the redhead girl, the blonde kid took advantage of it, distracting her telepathically and attacking her with a weird fighting style. And she battled viciously, relentlessly, kicking the shield to shatter it or throwing barrages of punches when her defenses weakened. She didn't understand how two brats could muster power enough to corner her, but the thought boiled her blood with incandescent rage.

However she was more concerned with the third kid for some vague instinct. She rested quietly in an idle, nonchalant stance, perusing the fight with a grim frown. What was she planning?

A brutal telekinetic punch pummeled her shield with crushing strength, and the jarring impact shredded the field and forced her to kneel down. A violet-clad shadow lunged on her, swinging a leg to perform a roundhouse kick would have taken hers head off. Though Candra blocked the strike with the forearm, gripped the Betsy's ankle and telekinetically tossed away to the young fighter.

"Wanda, do it now!" Betsy shouted as Jean caught her in midair and cleared out hastily, carrying her partner in arms.

Abruptly the Scarlet Witch cupped together her palms and shot at the wrecked concrete's ground a crackling, ivory sphere had shimmered among her fingers.

Candra raised a perplexed brow, staring at the projectile sinking in the asphalt as if it was water and burying itself deeply in the land. A second later, the ground quaked slightly and some cracks fractured the pavement. Feeling safe, the external laughed. "What was that stuff supposed to do, child?"

Wanda shrugged, gazing past her. "I never know until I use my power. I scramble the probabilities. For example" She paused, sharpening her eyesight "how many probabilities are there of that tiny quake brings down the building behind you?"

"What-" It was all she could utter before a shadow covered her. With a rumbling uproar, the building crumbled down, spilling a hailstorm of boulders of stone and concrete and steel and glass, tons of debris dropped atop of Candra, burying her beneath a mountain of rubbish.

Clouds of grey dirt arose with the downfall and floated outwards, enveloping three victorious girls. Dust itched in theirs throats and eyes, and they began to cough and weep as the filth settled on the floor.

Wanda rubbed her eyelids to get rid of the powder, and through her screwed eyes peered alternatively at the construction's ruins and at her partners. A thin layer of whitish sand coated them.

"Is she dead?" She wondered. Feeling a sudden anxiety on the thought.

"No, she's alive" Betsy stuttered among coughs. "She managed raise her telekinetic cloak just in time. However she'll need plenty time to crawl out of that garbage."

"Oh." She felt elation wash anxiety and... guilt? Odd. She wasn't fond of fighting or harming people, but that mindwitch tried killing them. It'd have been self-defense. "Let's see what are the boys doing? It mustn't be very impressive."

"Sure" Jean muttered off-handily, gazing to the billows of smog now climbed skywards. "By the way, I hate admitting this, but we make a great team."

Her two partners nodded, smiling.

"Hasn't your bird eyesight spotted any enemy yet, Angel?"

"I'm sorry, big guy. There's nothing to report." Warren shouted back, smiling friendly before gliding over the wind with a brief twitch of his wings. He hadn't been very fond of Piotr at first sight, but he'd eventually learnt he was one of the most softhearted and most honest persons he had met ever. And he'd not mind be a farmer if it meant his parents talked him or cared for him, or he had friends who loved him. Before meeting Slim and the group he had become jaded of people who smiled hypocritically to get something out of him and throttle him afterwards...

A rushed updraft caught him off-guard, and with a curse he folded the wings to regain his balance with an aerial curl. As he rotated Warren berated himself for flying so carelessly over hostile territory...

His piercing eyes detected movement fluttering in the corner of his eyesight. A slick shadow, withdrawing behind a watchtower, down there. He completed the loop and soared swiftly downwards, in search for the shady stalker.

Of sudden he was struck by sharp pangs of pain, burning and flaring, as a fire gnawing him from within. He lost his balance and dropped downwards as a heavy stone. While he clutched his hollow belly in pain, and his skin lost color and stiffness, his eyes watched the tough ground nearing at terrific speed...

Colossus sprang upwards, caught deftly to Angel with his metallic arms, and landed neatly on the floor. The land quaked with the violent impact, and a long rift split the asphalt between his feet.

With a satisfied but startled expression, he rocked gently Angel, who was lurching and writhing as a feverish child. "By the white wolf, what has happened you, friend?" He asked with a thick accent.

"Me." A wicked voice sounded several hundreds of meters ahead of them. Out of a corner, the youngest of the Horsemen emerged. She wore a devilish grin, which the unhealthy hue of a skin glued to the skullbones turned in a really sinister and morbid feature. "I'm what happened to your buddy."

Piotr narrowed his eyes and growled inadvertently. "Who are you?"

"An anorexic teenager with power to turn anything organic into dust, before Apocalypse found me and fixed me. Before I was hungry. Now I am Famine, the embodiment of the Hunger, and hunger I'll spread throughout the whole world. My fingers will strip the flesh of the ones I mark, leaving them in their bare bones. I'll touch everybody and the entire world will suffer in the same way I suffered when I was desperate for slimming down. Do you want a taste of it, Ivan? Try this."

Before Colossus did some movement, she stretched out her hand. Mentally she sent a surge of power, visualizing simultaneously his inner body. Soon she'd burn his energy reserves, his fat and proteins, and to survive his body would burn himself, dying for starvation-

Except he had no flesh, but steel, organic but steel nonetheless, shaping bones, muscles, organs, nerves and skin. With nothing to find, the energy bounced off Colossus as light reflected on a mirror, and the backlash struck to Famine viciously. She screamed, feeling her own body betraying her, corroding her, killing her. The pain overload was so unbearable she fainted. Luckily to her, since her own power would have consumed her otherwise.

Piotr remained still and silent while his eyes regarded the thin and brittle girl sprawled on the land, barely breathing, knocked out by the destructive energies she wielded. "Have I mentioned" he said at last "in my steely form I don't need feed or oxygen? By the way, if you want knowing real hunger, you should be a farmer. In the motherland we worked hard to accomplish a respectable harvest. Never we threw out the food by an aesthetic issue." He shook ruefully his head and stared to his friend. In the meantime Warren had regained partially his bearings, and seemed more relaxed. "Are you feeling fine, tovarisch?"

Angel managed a weak and faint smile despite his sick and starving looking. Very slim and ashen. "I'll be when I eat something. Until then I'll cope with it."

"And then Hank glared at me, and I mean he GLARED. His eyes seemed about of spitting fire. And he threatened to tie me, gag me, lock me in a crate filled with scorpions and tarantulas, soak it in oil and lit up a match. I managed getting away by one hair's width, but I think he was overreacting. I must have done him worst things than write 'Beware: Mad Doctor' in the bad of his shirt when he was going to attend to an important scientific conference."

Nightcrawler rolled up his eyes in fed-up despair, albeit his partner was unable to see it. "I can understand that. Those people without sense of humor are very touchy. When I was in the circus a tamer swore get me in the lion's cage only because I teleported him in a trapeze and left him up there for two straight hours. My girlfriend said that bigot deserved it anyhow..."

"Hush. Have you heard anything?" Bobby whispered brusquely, bringing a finger to his lips.

"As a matter of fact, Bobby, yes." Kurt nodded. "Dodge!"

He faded in a cloud of dark brimstone and Bobby darted away in an ice bridge right before Pestilence jumped from behind as a tiger. The old woman hissed in fury, and glared up at them with her minx eyes. Bobby was crouched on his own ice toboggan-like tower, and Kurt was swaying back and forth on a flagstaff with a mocking and obnoxious smirk etched on his face.

"So you're one of the bad guys" Bobby stated coolly. His smile was goofy, but the sharp facial planes gave him a kind of icy sternness "Which is your special power? Trip on your own feet when you walk?"

Her burning leer had absolutely no effect. "No, little child. I'm Pestilence. My touch transmits sickness. A brush of my fingers, and you'll fell ill with a virus without cure, a malady without antibiotic, a disease without healing. But I call it a medicine. A medicine to heal the life!" She cackled as a nut. Her laughter was a hoarse and cracked screech. "Come on, children! It's time to go to bed!"

She opened her arms beckoningly, daring them to attack her, knowing a simple touch would kill them.

Nightcrawler somersaulted, perching on a ledge. "I'm awfully sorry, milady, but Kurt Wagner only take up relating-bed offers of his girlfriend. However we can go to catch air."

Brusquely he vanished in a cloud of sulfur and materialized behind of Pestilence. Being very careful of avoiding her skin, he gripped her armor belt and teleported with her. The German, blue-furred mutant faded in and out, on the air, on the ground, over a building, in a bedroom, on a roof, alongside a wall, hopping relentlessly until he finally landed on the ground, dropping his cargo as a potatoes sack. She remained slumped over the floor, stuttering groggily, dizzily. A saliva trail trickled out of her gaping lips.

Bobby spread outwards his arms and sent a gust of frozen humidity, a stream of vapor hardened on a crust of bluish frostbite around Pestilence. Enough soon she was encased in a diamond of solid ice.

"To preserve the food from the germs, call to Bobby Drake, the Wandering Fridge!" He crowed triumphantly, puffing his chest. "However I fear that meat is spoiled actually."

"Bobby!" Nightcrawler shouted indignantly, restraining his urge of bursting out laughing insanely.

Simultaneously to those battles, Magneto, Cyclops and Quicksilver rushed to invade the command center, in the core of the camp. Pietro quickened up his race, changing in a blur of speed to look around the headquarters while they waited. Two seconds later he was back.

"I've found War, Father. He's in the Control Room, pressing buttons." He voiced hurriedly.

"He must be setting off the missiles. Go forward!" Magneto roared. Pietro nodded and darted away instantly, followed by Erik and Scott. Still Pietro braked his speed to not leave them behind and tire them out before the showdown. However restrain his legs as that was excruciatingly hard, nearly painful.

He halted his tracks in front of a large and heavy door made of several layers of reinforced metal. Two labored and rough breaths sounded behind him, warning him his two followers had just arrived.

With ominous silence Magneto stepped forward flamboyantly. His gloved hand waved dismissively. And the hatch was ripped off its hinges. With a screeching sound of metal tearing, the thick sheet of titanium was propelled inwards, clearing the threshold. Brightness flooded the hall, and they burst in the chamber.

Crimson beams greeted their coming, and as Magneto ducked, Quicksilver started to dash forward. A pulse of electromagnetic energy washed over him, pinning him on a wall.

Scott sensed a tingle itching and crawling underneath his skin before something invisible and cold and hissing hauled him high on the air. Swiftly his strategic mind studied the scene.

The room they had barged in was a rectangular area, filled with computers, monitors, control boards and chairs. His walls, floor and ceiling were covered with metal plates and reinforced with thick layers of titanium, concrete and plastic. However the walls were riddled with holes the beams had drilled. Arcs of silver-blue light -the reddish hue matched that color- swept the chamber, licking and grating the borders. Gideon, Horseman of the War, whose body was pulsating and crackling with energy, and whose eyes were glowing with an unholy red light, unleashed them.

His claw-like hands were spread onwards, unleashing tendrils of sparkling energy towards Magneto. Erik was sending tongues of lightning in turn, which coiled and entangled with the Gideon's energy, probing for some weakness. If Scott hadn't been stuck and crushed on the wall, he could have appreciated the mesmerizing display of light and color and energy entwined and swirling as a whirlpool.

Suddenly, the War's eyes released the force stored on them in one beam. Magneto deployed instantly a flashing force shield, barely in time to divert a barrage of discharges almost pushed him backwards.

Gideon guffawed. "Have you seen now, Magneto? I copy my foes' abilities. I can reply any power of any mutant. You were fools for defying me. I'll defeat you with your own skills: optic beams, super-speed and magnetism."

Sharp spikes of energy sprouted around his fingers, and he flung them at Pietro. Magneto growled, and with a mere magnetic repulsion, he shattered the projectiles in harmless bolts before they touched his son. "Nobody will harm another of my offspring as long as I live, mutant. And you power consists in borrowing other super-beings' talents. You're deluded if you believe a paltry thief may beat me."

An idea dawned in Scott. "He's right!" He shouted suddenly. "You can lend the skills but you don't know how using them. And if you believe my beams can damage me, you're dumber than I previously thought."

Gideon gawked, ogling to Scott with stark disbelief. He couldn't believe a simple kid dared to mock from him. His slack-jawed mouth was gaping, opening and closing stupidly, and his body shook nervously. Trembling with simmering rage. Slowly he closed his fists, clenching them until his fingers drew hot blood of his palms. "How do you dare" He hissed. "How do you dare, puerile brat?" He shouted with wrathful voice, and a ruby blast erupted out of his eyes, slamming to Scott.

The ray's potency thrust to Cyclops in the wall, nearly putting him through, and shredded a wide tear on his vest, but otherwise he suffered no damage. Scott grinned smugly, looking at his baffled foe. His eyebrows were climbing up his forehead. "My optic beams can't damage me, jackass." He stated gleefully.

Gideon blinked, too stunned to keep his focus. It faltered a bit, hardly five seconds, but it was everything Magneto needed. The Erik's eyes glowed as burning pools, and he reversed the polarity of the magnetic currents fluctuated around him. The electromagnetic field shuddered, and with a start both energies repelled at each other, being thrown back to theirs generators. Magneto was ready to the backlash and his body reabsorbed fluidly the tide, but War was unprepared to the vicious feedback.

A huge lightning struck him, burning him with its blinding light and its sparkling electricity. Rays roamed up and down his body, sparks scorched his hide, and discharges stiffened his limbs. He howled in extreme pain. Blackened and injured, with his armor charred and his body numb and singed, he relinquished his hold on the two young mutants. Scott and Pietro slid slowly to the ground.

A fraction of second later Quicksilver had landed on him an aggressive rain of blows and punches. He was already blacked out, but Pietro was too angry to notice. Then a stern hand squeezed roughly his shoulder.

"Stop it, Pietro. If you keep this on, you'll murder him. He can't do us now any harm. We've won." The kind but steeled Scott's voice brought Pietro around harshly. With a gasp, he halted abruptly, ashamed of his frenzied and uncontrolled burst. With gradual and heavy movements he turned to Scott.

"Thanks, Summers. By the way, it was a good movement, get him angry like that."

Scott shrugged. "I've got a knack to piss off people. And an angry enemy makes mistakes."

Both chuckled heartily and turned to Magneto. He was in front of a monitor that displayed rows of missiles. Death's bringers resting in theirs sockets and waiting obediently the launching order.

"It was a brilliant tactic, Scott. We can leave him here. Without a mutant to thief powers from, he's nothing. The soldiers will look efficiently after him." As he spoke, metal shards were lifted of the floor and whirled around the Gideon's hands and feet, melting and blending in two manacles. With a grating screech bunches of thick wires were ripped off theirs computers and wound around his body like coiling snakes. As soon as he was securely bound and fastened, Erik spun around to observe him. Contemplating his chest swelling and lowering, he admired sincerely his vitality. It was a wonder he kept still alive.

"I've turned off the explosives. They won't detonate. Now we must get out of here."

His outfit was torn and smeared with blood and mud, his skin was bleeding through of dozens of cuts and slashes, and the itching ache of the flesh knitting mixed with the churning pain of his guts burning. Nevertheless Logan didn't remember the last time he was so thrilled with a fight.

His sparring partner wasn't exactly unscathed either. His claws were longer and sharper after all. The upper half of the Sabertooth's costume was shredded, and the zigzagging gashes went across his entire torso. The stabbing wounds on his thighs hadn't yet healed, and his nose was a messed pulp of blood and cartilage. Creed was stronger and more muscled, but definitely wasn't nimbler or swifter than him.

But Victor could be damned fast anyway. An angry sweep of his arm slashed the spot where Logan's head was one second before he ducked and replied with a double crossed slash on his midsection. Abundant blood welled up from his wounds, and Sabertooth stepped backwards before hammering Logan with a rage-powered fist. The tough hit squashed Logan facedown on the ground. His hoof-like foot tried stomping him, but Wolverine cartwheeled hastily and sprang up with insulting easiness. His feet landed on a rubble mound, and he stood up there.

Creed opened the mouth. An unsettling, inhuman snarl went out. He blinked, shook his head and chuckled. Logan observed the change with a watchful frown. His voice sounded now human and his eyes had lost partially the wild, blank glow. "Are you mellowing in your old age, runt? I hadn't tagged you with that cheap move years ago."

"Perhaps" Logan growled, rubbing obliviously his backhands and the thin edge of the claws. The more he fought with Sabertooth the more flashes he got from his elusive past. And the more he was sure of his enemy deserved being disemboweled. "Or perhaps I get best stuff to do that romping with you."

Logan descended with a leap and bolted at his adversary as an arrow, his claws fully unsheathed and shining with bloodlust. Creed grinned smugly, anticipating that movement already. He arched his fists-

And then two huge soles planted on his shoulders and two broad hands covered his eyes. "May I play too?" A voice quipped atop his head with a mixture of mockery and contempt.

Before he pried that nuisance off him, six razor-sharp daggers drilled his belly. He howled in pain.

The intruder hopped off him, and Creed stared downwards. With trembling and numbing incredulity. Logan had embedded his claws into his body and was twisting them in the wound.

He wished throwing an insult, but he only managed spit a spray of red droplets.

"How I've just said", Wolverine seethed darkly "I've no time to romp with you. So I'll cut this quick."

His fervent hatred cloaked his own chagrined shame. Resorting to such tricks was dirty and cheap.

Sabertooth wheezed slowly, struggling for staying awake. The pain was overwhelming, but he could cope with it. "Are you dumb, runt? I've a healing factor, just like you. These wounds will be closing when you pull out your claws. And then I'll gut you."

"No. If I sever your spine, you won't." Wolverine sentenced, before thrusting violently his claws and twisting his wrist. Creed's limbs turned limp and lost strength, and he dropped downwards heavily.

Logan lifted up his haughty chin and sheathed his claws. However, as he looked down to his fallen enemy lying still over the concrete as an insentient doll, he felt a pang of regret. "We'll fight another day, Creed. Until the end and without interruptions. And then we'll know who's the best." Beat someone like that lacked of glory, of style. Even if he yearned for cracking open his skull and seeing his brains oozing. "In those years you talked about, I'm sure we've bled till the death. Hell, I should probably slit your throat right now. However I'm a teacher. And I'm trying teaching kids to use their powers without becoming monsters like you are or like I might be."

He stared meaningfully at Beast, who was squatted on a parapet, looking slightly ill. Logan sighed plaintively. He rued having left Hank was not only passive witness but also active participant in the fight. It'd been bloody, and he'd rather save from such displays to the kids, even if he knew it was wishful thinking. But like he'd just said, they needed learn. Acknowledge that ugliness to reject it.

A prick perked up his ears and nostrils. A sound of quick footsteps and a hiss of air shifting. He lifted his head to see them coming.

From different directions were arriving Magneto and the kids, soaring or sprinting. Some looked more disheveled than others -particularly a pale-faced Warren, who was being carried by Pete, and seemed rather sick-, and he smelt fatigue blended with distress in everyone, but otherwise his partners were safe and sound. And it was the essential thing.

Magneto, who gave off an acrid sniff of charred ozone, regarded the Creed's bundle with a silent stare and checked his troops with another. Seeing them alive and victorious, a smile of pride lit up his stern countenance.

"I'm glad of seeing you've overcome successfully your enemies." He stated. "But our task is far from over. Now we must look after the monster that promoted this atrocity. We-"

Barely he had voiced that sentence when the air stirred and quaked with a thunder-like rumble, violent and deafening. However it wasn't a thunder or explosion. It was words, booming words emanated from the massive ship floating overhead and spread as ripples on the shuddering atmosphere. Words belonging to one voice so inhuman and hoarse gave shivers the ones listened to it. It spewed evil and hate.

"Vain are your delusions and phony your hopes of destroying my glory, Magneto." It rumbled. Angry. Spiteful. And still chuckling. "Though you and your soldier infants have triumphed over my Horsemen. No an overlookable feat. You had proved be strong. For that, only for this time, I'll placate my rightful ire and allow your existence. Still my patience is finite. You may be strong, but I am the Survivor. Stop your transgressions and accept my rule or you'll die. As we speak, one of your allies is already paying the prize of the rebelliousness."

"What?" Magneto breathed faintly, as he watched the ship engines starting off with a roar, and the aircraft moving slowly. The nagging dread he'd felt since the beginning clutched his heart tightly.

Of sudden Marvel Girl shrieked and toppled on the ground. Her hands clenched her head and she began tossing and turning on the floor, quivering and crying in excruciating agony. Scott crawled frantically by her side and hoisted her softly on his arms, sending soothing thoughts in her head. He ignored their friends gathering around them, focused exclusively on the shuddering girl who was opening laboriously her green eyes, bright and moist with tears, and gazing straight at his concerned, caring look.

"Scott..." She wheezed. "I was fine. Of sudden, pain... intense pain... No mine, though... Something bad has happened to the Professor. We have to go back to the mansion. NOW."

The glossy, black jet flew back to the mansion hastily. Its cockpit vibrated as its pilot strained the machine, hastened by an urgent and rushed dread. Fright stabbed theirs guts with icy splinters, spreading its tendrils inside them and choking them gleefully with an oppressive weigh. That grim sensation deepened when they arrived to Westchester and saw a wing of the mansion collapsed in blackened, smoking ruins.

Erik landed the flight as steadily as his agitation allowed him, and without waiting for anybody, released the hatch and dashed away hurriedly.

As he navigated over the broken walls and piles of boulders, looking desperately for a sign of his old friend, his mind screamed once and again his name.

Charles! Charles! If you're alive answer me, damn you!

Of sudden, a retort. I don't know whether feeling me thankful or affronted, Erik. I'm over here. Extricate me out of this, please

He felt in mood for witty replies. It couldn't be so bad then. Magneto breathed, relieved, even though he felt hurt and regret in his best friend's mental voice. Where are you? What do you need my assistance for?

You'll see when you arrive He replied ominously, and Erik felt his presence guiding him. He headed swiftly for the direction where he was sensing him. Finally he spotted him among four crumbled walls, trapped below a pile of rubble. When the walls collapsed, the ceiling had also fallen in, and the debris buried his lower body. He was now struggling for crawling out of it, but the boulders were too heavy.

With an impatient blink the pile of rocks was catapulted skywards, where they dissolved in charred and harmless ashes.

As he descended, the students gathered around Charles. Their faces blanched with muffled gasps of shocked horror. Scott and Jean kneeled on the floor littered with plaster and bricks, flanking him. Yet he hadn't turned around.

Why wasn't he moving?

Then they saw it. The way his legs were swollen and bent. The way bones were splint and twisted.

He had lost his legs.

"I was monitoring your mission" He panted weakly, struggling against the hurt "when one of his servants... a man named Nemesis... raided the mansion. He fought against me, but when my power struck his mind... His own energies went crazy. His hands fired flames at every direction, boring holes in walls and floor, and the structure crumbled down. He got away of the collapsing, but I stood stuck. He could have killed me when..." He gasped twice before continuing. "The Henry's experiment saved my life."

Xavier craned his neck sideways. The X-Men followed his glazed, drifting stare.

Standing over a pile of debris a rodent-like mammal was gnawing a waterspout. It resembled a chipmunk, but its fur was green, its eyes glowed with an unholy crimson glitter and its mouth was a fanged maw. It paused of chewing the plumber with its sharp fangs, and burped a stream of purple fire with an unearthly bellow. Satisfied, it snatched a bunch of wires and began to bite them.

Henry regarded it thoughtfully. "I believe I must stop of attempting against the nature laws."

The rest nodded, shuddering. Erik grimaced as he cradled sorrowfully to Charles. "Do it, please."

End Part Three.

In the next part, the X-Men rebuilt from the ashes. Scott and the Professor have a heart-to-heart chat. And we found what happened in Israel.


	4. Part Four Recoveries and Revelations

Together We Stand

Author: Jenskott

Summary: A What-If where Xavier and Magneto elected working together instead fighting at each other. How would be the Marvel Universe?

Notes: Thanks for the reviews! Please keep on writing them! I haven't read the New Mutants so I didn't get the reference. It was related to Legion? Anyway my story uses mainly Silver Age material.

Rating: PG-13. There's disturbing imagery in this chapter. You've been warned.

Disclaimer: They're Marvel's. But I'm treating them well.

Feedback: To But isn't necessary you wrote me telling me what you think or to correct my flimsy English. Really, don't take the effort to type a pair of lines... What do you mean with reverse psychology?

Part Four. Recoveries and Revelations-

It had become a sort of ritual.

She awoke with a violent jolt in the bowels of the night, drenched in an awfully cold sweat, feeling the last pangs of the nightmare gripping her with its chilly, skeletal clutches. Then she jumped out of the bed, unable of remaining in her own lonely room. Wandering along the hall, she reached his room and knocked on the door. The wooden sheet slid open, and he showed up between the jambs.

Taking a look at her haggard face and her teary, bloodshot eyes, he hugged her fiercely and nodded. Then he locked the door and escorted her to his bed. His arms laid her softly on the mattress before lying down himself and tucking both in the sheets, a protective white cloak wrapping them. They snuggled underneath the blankets and he kissed tenderly her temples.

Then she draped tightly her arms around his neck, buried her head on his chest and wept bitterly. She talked and sobbed and cried her heart out, told him her nightmares, unleashed the anxieties and fears she bottled up during the day, in front of the people. Usually she screamed but she babbled also incoherent whispers, hushed gusts of sound in the darkness. Her hands wrung his pajamas and her tears soaked it. And he kept quiet, listening to her and enveloping her in comfort and warmth and love. He was always a good listener, never invading her mind with screeching mental shouts, unlike other people. His mind was tranquil but passionate, even though he suffered nightmares just as dark as hers. He remained ever silent, ever calm, stroking soothingly her hair and her taut backside.

He just held her and gave comfort, never anything else. Oh, he wanted her. She could feel his body stiffening when she squashed her breasts against his chest, she could hear his ragged, steamy breath tickling on her ear, she could sense the lurid, lascivious thoughts lurking on the rear of his brain and tempting him.

Sometimes she wished they were able to forget past, tragic experiences, toss caution to the wind, stop shying away from the physical contact, and get on it. But her boyfriend was responsible and selfless to a fault, and both were still scared and reluctant to intimate physical touch. Sort of.

Once her thigh had accidentally rested on his crotch, and a wicked impulse drove her to rub it to rouse a reaction in him. Inwardly he had burnt in blazes, but he'd quelled down his lust with great effort.

She'd sighed, mortified and guilty of that despicable control trick. And frustrated, but Scott was right when he said if their feelings were real they'd be the same now and within long time.

Early sunlight filtered through the blinds, greeting the slumped bodies and burning their dreams in cinders.

Sensing the warm hotness on his face, Scott stirred awake, and leaned onward with a loud yawn.

Next to him sounded a raspy, drowsy groan. "I hate the mornings."

He regarded her with a thin smile on his lips. He adored her cute whining pout. And her temper. When it wasn't unleashed upon him, that is.

His palm rested on her cheek before pecking her sweetly. "Slacker."

Jean giggled teasingly. "Easy for you to say. You're fresh with only four hours of dream."

"At least I don't threat our friends with a dire fate if they interrupt my communion with the coffee!" He drawled sarcastically with a playful smirk on his face. Then he drew backwards the covers.

"Why are you getting up so early? The classes are canceled today." She inquired, curious and a tad disappointed.

"I have to talk to the Professor. He's been very withdrawn and glum since the battle. He helped us to come out of our shells when we were scared children. It's only fair we repay the favor." He stated fiercely. "I'll be in the shower."

A wanton grin split her face. "Do you want we take the shower together?"

He blushed, eliciting musical snickers from her. "Jean, you know I don't turn the lights on when..."

"Please, spare me of silly excuses, Slim" Jean said, rising. It was true. He took off his eyewear to not soak it. And since his eyes were forcefully shut, the light was useless. But it was a pretext he was using.

She strode at him slowly and leaned onward her face. Inches parted their noses, and their breaths mingled, brushing with feathery warmth both faces. Jean paused, feeling his hot gasps tickling her cheeks, and smooched his forehead. After her mouth traveled through his face, caressing every inch of exposed skin with her lips.

Jean knew perfectly how sensitive to touch was Scott. The beatings and mistreatments Jack Winters gave him were branded with red-hot iron on his skin. The Professor could shout him or scold him as much as he wanted, but he associated gentle, reassuring strokes with his face. She hoped leave a nice imprint on him.

You're only scared of what you can or be ready to do She sent. Trust in yourself, Slim, please. I trust in you. Don't you trust in me? 

Predictably he crushed her in an anxious hug and locked lips with her. After a passionate, breathless, long kiss they wrenched theirs mouths apart and panted roughly and heavily.

"All right. But don't try my control. Understood?"

"Don't worry. I don't think I'm ready to something else that kiss and fool around"

Awhile after Scott was still sporting a silly grin of insane glee and giggling dumbly as he trudged along the hallway. Usually he'd appreciate the rich and beautiful paintings decorated the walls, or the oak planks they were covered with, but his one-track mind wouldn't allow him divert his thoughts of the mission.

Along the way he ran accidentally into Peter -who was as early-rising as him- and greeted him. After the last battle's mess the X-Men were very busy with the repairs, and the European team moved to the mansion to help. Gossip assured they'd stay in the mansion permanently, keeping Wundagore as a backup hideout. He usually ignored rumors but his first-hand information told they were right for once.

When he reached Professor's office, he noted with surprise that the door had been left ajar. Hesitantly, concernedly, Scott pushed it inwards.

Magneto and Xavier turned at the door, giving him confused glances. They were conversing over a table and obviously they weren't expecting being interrupted. Scott winced under their demanding scrutiny, but he masked it. He never scratched his crown or coughed or gave away telltale signs of nervousness.

"Good morning, Mr. Lensherr. Good morning, sir. If it's all right, I'd like speak with you. Alone."

Xavier glanced at his friend and Erik nodded. Quietly Magneto collected several sheaves sprawled on the desk, and walking past Scott, left the room.

The Professor's eyes lingered a moment on the door before beaming at Scott. The smile intended being warm and reassuring, but he read a bitter sorrow and forlorn despair underneath.

"What can I do for you, Scott?"

He hesitated yet again. "It's rather the other way around, sir." He glanced passingly at the new wheelchair. "That chair seems cozy. It's... strange watch you on it."

The Professor lips quavered slightly. His smile wavered. Apparently he had hit a soft spot and the mask had shown a chink. Well. "Erik made this wheelchair. Practice, he called it. I guess he feels sorry for no having returned in time from the mission... what did you wish talking me about, Scott?"

A retreat. Scott read the signs clearly. His mentor had used a noncommittal, plain tone, but he'd changed subjects with abrupt swiftness. Because he'd been about of cracking. It might have worked with someone who wasn't the undisputed king in running away from twisted emotional issues.

"I'd rather talking outside, sir. The weather is fine this morning. Fresh and sunny. We can stroll along the maze of rosebushes as we chat. But it has to be now, before one of my schoolmates kills someone or blows up something." Scott noticed Xavier fidgeting uncertainly, and he pressed further. "Come on, sir. You're entitled to SOME peace."

Charles Xavier blinked, bemused, and chuckled. "All right, Scott. I give up. Let's walk."

Moist droplets of dew damped still the leaves and drenched the grass when the sun was starting its climb towards the summit. Blossoms of intense, raw colors unfolded theirs petals to greet the warming sun and receiving the stroke of the wind. Overhead flocks of jays flew, and far away in the wood ringed the steady drumming of a woodpecker drilling pines.

The maze of tall hedges on the backyard was one of the favorite spots from Scott to relax, mull things over or brood silently. The Professor had shown himself the place the first day he arrived to the mansion. Though the luscious bunches of roses and the blooming buds needed a specific care he couldn't give.

As Scott rolled the wheelchair slowly along the winding path, he spared a gaze at the mansion. There had been weeks since the raid, and in that time they had managed rebuilding the destroyed area. Now it seemed whole, like if nothing had happened.

He wished Professor's disability was so easily fixable. But he was realistic. The mansion wasn't the same, despite its deceiving mask of oldness. Likewise his mentor wouldn't be the same person even though they repaired the damaged nerve.

The Professor eyed him pensively and cut off his reverie. "I can feel you practically steaming, Scott. Why don't you tell me what is weighing on your mind?"

"Because I'm thinking how broaching the issue, sir." He replied with a sigh. What was he doing? He wasn't built to meaningful conversations about deep emotional troubles. He wasn't a psychologist or counselor -and he never trusted them at the slightest-. Jean, Hank, Kurt were better suited to it. "How are you feeling these days? We barely see you. We're worried about you."

He had always thought honesty and bluntness were the best policies, hadn't he?

The slightly frantic and sidelong stare the Professor shot him showed he knew what was this all about. "I'm sorry, Scott. I didn't intend worrying you. Still your fears are unnecessary. I can assure you, Scott, I'm coping fairly well with my new-found disability-"

"Bullshit" Scott mumbled. His snout had wrinkled in disdain. "You aren't acting like yourself, sir, and there isn't use in pretending otherwise with me. Do you remember when I came here?"

"Of course" He retorted quietly.

Scott swerved the chair around a corner, avoiding bumping on a flat stone of slippery surface. "Do you remember how I was then? A prickly, moody, brusque, angry, wary teenager, who was distrustful of you?"

"How forgetting it?" Xavier snickered. Scott nearly could see the smirk splitting his face. He shook his head.

"I didn't quite believe my luck. In the orphanage I learnt nobody loved me ever. In the streets I learnt nobody cared for me, and I only could rely on myself. In clutches' Jack I learnt kindness may be a lure. And what being an abused child is like." Scot trailed off. Memories lay asleep menaced with stirring, harming him again, but he squashed them down with a shudder. He sported still bruises and cuts of Jack's beatings. But the punches weren't at all the worst thing the bastard did him. The stuff he forced him to do was most awful by far. And the scars ran much deeper. "And at the same stroke I was free from him, and someone had offered me a home. I couldn't believe it. Or understand it. In my experience, true generosity isn't common. And a rich man who offers take you to his house was NOT a good thing."

Neither of them spoke further words for seconds. Then "I know you had little reason to trust wholeheartedly on a stranger, Scott. I haven't got words enough to thank your faith on me. I worked hard to earn your trust and prove you my intentions."

"You did" He nodded resolutely. "And because that, sir, I can't let you down now you need me. You worked very tough to extricate me out of my shell. You goaded me to accept my disability, my fucking uncontrollable power, and to live with it. Even though I pushed you away or lashed out angrily on you."

Scott stopped the chair and stepped around it. He stood at attention, as a soldier, in front of Xavier. Yet his countenance wasn't of submission, but of concern. He took his hand gingerly. Willing reaching out for him. "Please, sir, don't push us away. Let us help you. I figure this is very painful, but I -all- want helping you to bear with this. You aren't alone. You haven't to live through this alone."

Xavier hunched forward as well as he could and hugged to his disciple. Warmly. "Thanks, Scott. I needed the encouragement. Though listen to me: I took the choice of battling evil mutants and I don't regret it, not matter how frustrating being imprisoned to this wheelchair is. That monster must be stopped at any cost. And I'd be glad if my lower body was the worst prize we'll get to pay to save the world."

Scott recalled Cape Citadel. Collapsed buildings, cadavers laid on the dust, blood and chaos everywhere. Sweaty tremors rocked his body. "But who is him exactly? And how did you meet him?"

Xavier shook his head. "Scott, it's time to you hear the whole history. Just like I said you, we had just defeated the Baron Strucker, chief of Hydra -some day I'll have to tell you that story-, and doing it we had come out like mutants. Erik insisted on the humans would never accept us, but Gabby... an acquaintance of mine... rather mined his theory. She was truly grateful of her salvation, and didn't matter her I wasn't quite 'human'. The Invaders wielded powers but they were heroes nevertheless."

"Erik's wife had abandoned him when... in his fury by his daughter's unfair death... his powers blew up abruptly with vengeance... and he destroyed a town. If his beloved spouse, who had survived to the camps with him, feared him, why should not other people? But a doubt lingered on his mind. Had she run away because he was different? Or because he had single-handily killed in an unrestrained burst of rage? The uncertainty and the suffering were eating him alive. He stalled, taking care of the patients, wondering what was the right answer."

"Then a night a man came to see us. He revealed himself like mutant. He stated his master was the mightiest and strongest of the 'beings dwelled in this mudball' and he knew we were two alpha-level of his brethren. He stated his master had a proposal to us, an offer we would be wise in taking up. We were too intrigued to refuse."

Xavier sighed ruefully. Grief tinged his thoughts. "I should have blasted Nemesis right then."

Jerusalem. Five years earlier.

"I really hope this be worth of our time" Erik growled, stomping on the stairs.

"Hush, Erik. Steady your temper." Charles whispered. He was more focused on the weird place where they were descending. That blond man had led them to an apparently abandoned and ruined warehouse. Though, when he opened the rusty iron door they went into a secret complex. The chamber was plunged in slippery shadows, but he could tell it was larger than it looked in the outside, and the walls were carpeted with an odd circuitry. Practically alien. With a quiet frown Nemesis had locked down the door with steel bars and pointed mutely at a trapdoor. Through that pit they were now dipping in the heart of the Earth. And he couldn't help a bad hunch.

"Silence, underlings!" The man whirled around and grated furiously. "Your ceaseless gibberish is driving me mad. I fail completely in understanding what my Lord intends conscripting two fools."

Charles Xavier spread an arm to hold back his friend, who was giving the man an absolutely murderer glare. Nemesis simply huffed contemptuously, spun around and kept striding.

Both followed him along steps spiraled downwards as a twisted corkscrew, and a narrow shaft. Xavier looked around relentlessly, studying the walls and the gadgets he could make out in the semi-darkness. This was... downright alien. Nothing on the Earth, not even the technology his father and his colleagues used in Alamogordo, resembled this. Who was that man?

He was also puzzled -and alarmed- by the yells and screams echoed from everywhere. It unsettled him.

Then they trespassed a threshold, and the tunnel turned in a bridge crossed a pit... No, it was a training chamber of nearly thirty feet height, and the platform slithered like a snake along the ceiling. Erik and him walked hesitantly along the bridge, staring down at people. People with inhuman appearances, fighting with berserk fury, using raw force, speed, claws, fangs, poison, energy blasts, swords or guns. Whenever someone was defeated, the winner slaughtered the loser instantly. If someone hesitated the tiniest second, the instructor executed both without mercy.

Xavier's eyes widened contemplating this. What was the point of that butchery?

"This is the training chamber. Here's where the fittest are chosen. Every so often our master enjoys perusing the exercises. Hence the overpass." Nemesis said lamely. Like if the carnage wasn't important or noticeable.

Finally they reached the passage across the pit, and stepped in it. Doors and windows lined up along both sides of the corridor, and as they walked, both seized the chance to watch what transpired in the rooms. Horror drained blood from theirs faces. Some of those halls were armories or storage rooms. But many were labs. And there were persons fastened with straps to stretchers, while people in white lab coats walked around, performed autopsies on them or experimented with their bodies. They injected fluids in their veins, electrocuted them or dissected. Sick curiosity hinted Xavier that there weren't corpses in sight. Blotches of flesh and shards of bone littered the tiles, puddles of blood smeared the floor, and human organs were stored in glass jars, but there weren't corpses around.

Then he noticed the ovens. His heart skipped several heartbeats as arctic cold froze his blood.

Erik was also shivering, but if it was out of terror or of blistering, choking rage, Charles couldn't tell. Still he knew why his friend was so affected. Disturbing images and visions were projected in his head. Images of harsh-looking soldiers bursting into filthy and fetid huts at the midnight, fetching roughly one of the scrawny and starving persons, and dragging the prisoner with inhuman coldness, ignoring his or her desperate screams as the heartless beast of Doctor Josef Mengele stared at his chosen subject with an arrogant and dispassionate look on his eyes.

Charles felt like throwing up.

His long downward path finished in an ample gate. As Nemesis advanced at it and pressed a panel, Charles wondered who would be waiting for them. Ancient Greeks used to believe the Underworld was deep in the core of Earth. He suspected they were about of meeting Hades.

With a hum the double gate slid open on its own, and they entered in a great lounge, filled with strange devices and illuminated with fierce light of a crackling, blue brightness. Across the room was a tall platform with steps, and a wide throne had been placed atop it. Sat on the chair waited the man -man?-they were going to know.

A massive, vaguely humanoid being, clad in a blue armor, was staring at them with the expression of who studies a curious insect. His limbs were wide as pillars, and his round and ugly head was grey, with odd blue marks. And his eyes... God, his blank eyes, without pupils, without light, without life, without soul...

He had seen statues less petrified and warmer in Egypt. And mummies more alive.

And the evil that thing bereft of warmth and emotions irradiated, his stench of corruption pervaded the polluted air of the room. It was oppressive. Overwhelming. Xavier restrained again urges of retching.

The monolithic man then talked. His voice was a potent rumble. "Welcome to my abode. I have been awaiting you for a long time. And now the chesspieces are on the board, the ascent is nigh."

He laughed.

Charles squinted at him. "Who are you?"

Nemesis, who had kneeled down in respectful submission, whirled around swiftly. "How do you dare to speak so disrespectfully to the Apocalypse?" Embers sparked in his suddenly shimmering eyes.

"Silence, my servant. They are naive. They are still ignorant. But I'll explain them now. And if they are worthy, they'll understand. The test is hardly at its beginning stage."

Erik crossed his arms sternly. His patience was ebbing quickly. "What do you mean? What test?"

He was feeling like a guinea pig. And the notion wasn't appealing.

"I'm the Apocalypse" The man stated simply. "I was born in Egypt, when the civilization was young, and the King built his magnificent tomb in Gizeh. The Stormriders, a tribe of dune-dwellers bandits, raised me long before Rama-Tut was overthrown by four blue demons. Since then I have roamed the planet, culling the unfit ones who sully this land with their weakness to assure the ascent of the strong ones."

Apocalypse stood up abruptly, and his body began to shift and grow. Meanwhile, Charles and Erik were ruminating over his words. He was a mutant. The first born in the history if his words were truthful.

"And now my time has come at last! Thanks to my work during millenniums, groveling worms have evolved to gods. Now I shall lead my kin to their rightful place on the world, exterminating the beasts that prowl around the planet! Those humans have polluted this world too many ages with their unfitness. Evolution has decreed their extinction. They will die and the mutantkind will thrive free of them. My ascension has begun now! Only the fittest ones will survive, and Apocalypse shall reign supreme over them!"

Xavier eyed him up and down. With growing dread on his face. His talk, his manners... he was downright insane. But what if that madman had power to achieve his goal?

Erik was giving him a queasy, unsettled glance. "I don't understand." He stated at last. "You talk about evolution and fittest's survival. According you, the humans will die because they are weakest. Then the very nature will take care of it. Why chase them, hunt them and exterminate them if it'll happen anyway?"

Apocalypse pierced him with a glare. "I'm not got used to be contradicted. My will isn't analyzed... but obeyed! You have been led here to learn it. And you will learn or die!" His mouth erupted words of hatred and spite as his rage arose and churned, threatening spilling out of him. "You are mutants like me! Forget those silly things like... love and pity" he spat those words like venomous acid blistering his throat "and join my crusade. Together we shall turn this planet in a heaven to our race! We deserve reign because we are superior to our inferior genetics!"

Wrath, loathing and immeasurable pride emanated from him as ripples, washing over Xavier with the intensity of a hurricane. A whirlwind of images of executions, tortures, confinement camps, razed cities, war and death struck and whipped his mind. The wrenching agony was too unbearable, and he released them. And those visions of evil and ruin flowed in his friend like a cascade. Erik cringed inwardly with the sharp flashes tearing up his mind like glass shards, but he didn't let out his shuddering agitation.

Each Apocalypse's word brought implications didn't like him at all. The superior race? Where had he heard- Oh. Of course.

To Apocalypse violence and evil are inherent to the mutantkind. To the nazis, kill, rape and loot were inherent to good German's nature. They taught such values to innocent children, brainwashing them.

And what he wanted doing... Erik had thought time and again that the mutants needed conquer the power to not be decimated like the Jewish. But was preferable bring about a Holocaust instead of suffering one? And when all was said and done... the mutants would be hated and reckoned like a kind of heartless murderers?

Could he brook that?

As he pondered heavily, feeling the foundations of his beliefs cracking, Charles faced the monster with an undaunted, challenging frown. The whole indignation of his soul shimmered on that glare. "I've been in Korea, Apocalypse, and I know by a fact that heaven doesn't exist on the battlefield. Often I've seen people like you, who believed might is equal to right, and they were always brought down. You intend build a nation without solid foundations. You can't build anything with war and destruction, only with peace and creation. And there isn't justice on killing someone out of bigotry."

"Altruism, mercy, loyalty... are diseases corrode the soul and deteriorate the spirit. The true nature of any mutant is lust for killing his inferior and proving his superiority. Only through the war, the death, the destruction, the bloodshed, the strong ones will prevail. Peace is an absurd fantasy weakens the minds. And the only justice worth will be mine." He retorted, ever filled with haughty contempt.

"And so we reach the core of your being: those who oppose me must die!" Erik glowered angrily. "That's the root of your beliefs. You are nothing but a conceited, preposterous madman, Apocalypse. You don't strive to save the mutants. You fight to amass power!"

Xavier contemplated his friend. A thin beam enlightened his expression, before hardening in an unyielding glare led at Apocalypse. "He's right. You wish not helping mutants but global domination, killing who stands up to you. And if you truly expected I would assist you with that... you're crazier than you words suggested."

Still silence settled on the room, deafening like a thunder. "You have chosen your destine then, Xavier. A pity wasting your potential. But you, Erik. I can see your mind. I can sense the affinity of your soul. I know you. I know the bitter rage, the burning resentment, the seething hate dwells in you. You yearn for unleashing your ire upon those puny specks of flesh. Don't repress your instincts. Don't follow that dreamer in his ill-fated road. I'd grieve see you potential squandered. Join me. Together we'll rule over this mudball."

Erik crossed his arms sternly. Instants of silence ticked off. Tense, stiff, demanding silence.

Charles glanced fearfully at his friend, and for a second he allowed doubt crept in his mind. The mirthless, sarcastic Erik's laughter vanished that fantasy like smoke.

"You and me know two tigers can't reign over the same jungle, Apocalypse. So don't bother saying 'us'!" Erik thundered powerfully. "I don't wish conquering the world but peace among humans and mutants, but fearing a war will be necessary to it. You dream with dominating the world to squash people beneath your boots, and you wish war to increase the pain and the suffering. And if you -the deity I've turned my back to forbids- gain power, there'll be death and genocide not only to humans but also to mutants! I'll NEVER join forces with you, accursed butcher!"

Apocalypse stomped abruptly one foot on the ground, and a booming shockwave exploded, spreading as a ripple. The whole chamber quaked. "You have chosen perishing, then! Dark Riders, to me!"

Secret panels on the walls slid open with a swish, and a stream of armored soldiers flowed out of every shaft, flooding the chamber as an impetuous tide. Charles and Erik were surrounded and circled quickly by a wall of grim faces, long claws and fangs, gleaming blades, shinning guns, and dazzling energy balls begging being fired.

Erik and Charles were back to back, surveying uneasily the multitude. "Hm. Erik? I have no qualms with rehashing our bar brawls picking a good fight, but I estimate we are slightly outnumbered here."

The silver-haired man waved his hand dismissively. "I know, I know. Don't worry too much again."

His eyes narrowed, and blue flares welled out of them. Inwardly he was tapping in his power, enhancing his awareness. Mentally he visualized the metal framework held together the complex. He sensed each wall, each girder, each screw. He tasted each particle of electricity flowing on the facility, each electron floating on the atmosphere.

His eyes flashed with blank ivory, and he slashed outwards.

With the ear-shattering rumble of a massive detonation, every bit of metal in a half-mile radius imploded in shredded and wrecked shards of steel, and the basement collapsed. Straight after a blast of crispy, sizzling electricity blasted, piercing the sky with glowing-grey brightness lighted up the erstwhile quiet night.

Nobody saw how a translucent sphere darted out of the pillar of swirling energy, concealed with the intense radiance. Crackling sparks burst and curled along its round surface, and two figures hovered inside. One of them drove the sphere. A man with eyes shimmered with unholy glow, and clenched fists pulsating with energy. His partner stared with stunned amazement at the devastation. He showed no fear otherwise.

"That was quite the exhibition you have treated us with, Erik." He laughed nervously. "Now if you can -preferably slowly- lead us to the ground..."

Erik chuckled heartily. Charles dreadful from heights. Who would think it? "Agreed, Charles. But bear in mind this. That... abhorrent monster has given me unbidden thoughts to mull over..."

He nodded sagely. Encouraging him to talk.

"I've also got a dream, but perhaps it's as hopeless as yours and I've... just realized it. I've seen the worst the humanity can offer, Charles, and the homo superiors... like or not... are humans all in all. Perhaps I was able to bring off a lasting peace, but... you were right. Maybe peaceful coexistence is a pipe dream, but it's worth of trying. It's better pursuit a peace than unchaining a war."

"And a war will happen if Apocalypse succeeds. And the winner will reign over the ruins of an obliterated planet. The smoking, charred cinders of a civilization devastated." Xavier muttered darkly.

His squinted eyes were fixedly narrowed at the skyline, as if he tried reading the incoming future.

Westchester. Today.

Scott was drawn in an awkward silence, mulling thoughtfully over the flood of events had been revealed. He was deeply troubled, unsure of what telling. It was too much to absorb right away.

The Professor displayed one of his bleak, serious frowns he developed when he was reflecting and analyzing thousand patterns at once. His unreadable look in those times was really eerie. Nobody could guess what he was thinking beneath those sharp eyes that pierced the soul.

A flock of birds darted overhead, breaking the stillness with theirs squawks.

Xavier came round and smiled thinly. "Now do you understand why we must triumph over Apocalypse?"

Scott nodded.

"Well." The Professor glanced idly at his wristwatch and grimaced. "Oh, dear. We must return now to the mansion or we'll run out of breakfast."

"Don't worry, sir. I'm sure the cook will get enough pancakes stashed away."

"It isn't the pancakes or the coffee what I'm worried about. Without supervision, Robert will feel free to consume anything with sugar stored in the kitchen, and we'll be dealing with a hyper Robert. A hyper Robert, Scott."

Scott couldn't help the laughter as he pushed the chair back to the mansion.

The 'four blue demons' were obviously the Fantastic Four. In Fantastic Four 19 they traveled to the past and overthrew Rama-Tut, who would become Kang the Conqueror.

In the next chapter the X-Men go to the mall after a workout. Will Salem Center survive the experience?


	5. Part Five Mayhem in the Mall

Together We Stand

Author: Jenskott Summary: A What-If where Xavier and Magneto decided working together instead fighting at each other. How would be the Marvel Universe?  
Notes: Thanks for the reviews! I want more! And I have some words to my reviewers. To Harry2: Thanks for your praise and the Legion's bit. To Wanizame: I READ my story. And I run grammar and spell check over it. Several times. And I'm seldom glad with the result. I'm NOT an English speaker, so I'm sort of handicapped, but I try making my best. I'd gladly take up helping.  
Rating: PG-13.  
Disclaimer: They're Marvel's. But I'm treating them well.  
Feedback: To But isn't necessary you wrote me telling me what you think or to correct my flimsy English. Really, don't take the effort to type a pair of lines... What do you mean with reverse psychology?

Part Five. Mayhem in the Mall-

Logan had very strict rules when he trained the kids. Charlie amused himself rigging the Danger Room out with countless traps and nasty surprises to hone and tune his pupils' skills. Erik made up complicated and awesome holographic landscapes to show them like win battles and surpass their limits. But if he was bound to teach them fighting skills and martial arts, he would do it in a proper setting.

Hence the Danger Room seemed right now a Japanese dojo, with paneling of wood covering the walls and tatamis on the floor. The illusion was so perfect he could see the gnarled and black-brown branches of a cherry tree blooming with rosy petals out of the window.

Inside the gym the children were clad in their battle garbs and fighting in pairs. A good method to test theirs skill and ascertain theirs flaws. For example, Peter knew hit but not fight, and Pietro relied too much on his speed. Thus Colossus was permanently punching the air as Quicksilver landed several dozens of blows on his armored skin with no effect. However Pietro would wear away his energies eventually and Peter only needed tag him once to win. Both could learn of it, but stubborn and proud Pietro's temper wasn't prone to accept lessons easily. On the other hand Piotr was humbler and would listen.

His first disciples had clear advantage in the fights, since Magneto wasn't as well-versed in physical combat as him. Scott, one of his soft spots, was showing Kurt his amazing agility didn't serve against someone who guessed always his movements. Wanda was sparring with Hank with expression of wanting castrating him, and Warren was wrestling with Bobby with expression of wanting castrating him. Hank was the best and most advanced of them whereas Wanda needed much exercise to keep up with her partners.

An interesting match was Jean against Betsy. Jeannie was one of his best students, with a vicious and merciless fighting style and a stubborn streak, but the English girl was faring fine. Unlike her four partners, she had learnt her arts and showed promise.

Logan was observing them sternly, noting down what they did wrong, when disaster struck. Jean cornered Betsy with a barrage of punches and tried taking her down with a sweeping kick. Betsy hopped, dodging it, and tried a palm chop at Jean's head. Jean blocked it in time with her right forearm, grabbed her wrist and threw a fist straight to the breastbone. Betsy widened her eyes in panic and grabbed the fist with her free hand. Empowered by a surge of fear and adrenaline, she disengaged her arm, arched it back like a striking viper and launched it towards Marvel Girl.

Suddenly purple light flashed, and a blast of crackling lavender embers exploded where the fist connected. Jean screeched in intense, excruciating pain and fell backwards. An intense violet light pulsated on her chest. Stunned and horrified, Betsy pinned a bulged-eyed stare on her, covering her mouth with a hand. A purple glow shimmered still around her left fist.

Logan and Scott rushed instantly to attend her, followed closely by the rest. Luckily Jean stirred in semi-awareness as they circled her. Her eyelids were tightly sealed and she groaned throatily as her digits rubbed her forehead, but otherwise she seemed fine. As Scott squeezed with gentle tightness her hand and helped her to sit on the floor, he wondered why she was feeling pain in a place where she hadn't been stricken. Anyway he was very thankful his visor masked the sidelong glare he was throwing at Psylocke.

Stop that! She isn't to blame! A blaze flared in his mind. Scott winced. Jean's temper was merciless.

Jean shook her aching head with exasperation. As she reached blindly for Scott, enduring a throbbing ache nestled between her eyebrows, Logan kneeled gingerly next to her. His worst fears were eased, but his rough face showed still tender concern. "What has happened you, Jeannie?"

She wrinkled her forehead and her eyelids fluttered. "I don't know. Betsy was throwing me a hysterical jab when of sudden her fist... flares and pounds on my mental shields. I don't know how she did it, but her attack just... sliced them." Jean released a groan and gazed intensely at Betsy. "What did you do, Betsy?"

The blonde girl bit her lip. The usual Jean's grouchiness mitigated partially her guilt, but she remained distraught and fear-stricken. She brought her arm up to her face and scrutinized it with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. "I don't know either. I became frightened at the end, and I... lashed out. And something inside my head exploded. Before I realized it, my fist was channeling my psychic power."

Jean frowned thoughtfully. It sounded dangerous and also... interesting. She regarded Betsy with wary attention. "Yes. It seemed a cross between a dagger and a cannonball."

Logan laid an attentive, supportive hand on her shoulder. Not many imagined his burly, rough hands could be gentle and reassuring. "Can you do it again?" His look was piercing her with an eerie, deep intensity.

Betsy looked mutely at her hand and recalled the sensations she had felt. Fear, shock, helplessness, anger. Her dread to lose, her raw yearning for winning thumped in her heart again. She felt her mind speeding up and tapping in unknown resources whose existence she ignored.

Her fist closed abruptly, and purple energy shimmered around it, shaping a flickering flame. Or a blade.

Logan squinted at the wavering, crackling dagger. "Great. If you can master that, you'll get a fine weapon in a fight, darling."

Instead of beaming at the praise, Betsy grimaced. Power streamed along her arm without stopping like a river has overflowed its dam. With a shudder her right hand grabbed roughly her wrist as a claw, and she struggled vainly to restrain it. "I'm afraid that isn't the case now. The power keeps gathering... Look out!" She stretched out her arm, and her fist fired the flaring violet energy in a wide beam.

Jean erected a telepathic shield deflected harmlessly the sizzling bolt. "Eh! Aim that thing at anywhere else, do you want?" She protested with indignation.

Betsy stuttered an apology with grief-stricken face.

Logan doubled over and guffawed. "All right. Practice is over today, kids. Hit the showers before I spill my guts."

"And I'm really, really sorry-"

"For the umpteenth time, apologies accepted. Drop it already, Betsy. I can feel up here that you're sincere. Do you remember?" Jean tapped meaningfully her moist temple.

Betsy flushed and clasped her bra around her breasts. Jean judged that black lace garment was too daring to a girl of her same age, but she didn't voice out loud her opinion. She was still annoyed and Betsy would feel it was an excuse to break out an argument. Besides, if she was truthful with herself, she was a tad jealous of her bosom size.

Wanda unzipped cautiously her skirt, casting uneasy glances at the thin drape parting both dressers. It seemed billowing on its own accord. "Are you sure of the boys won't try and peek us?"

Jean snickered and shook her head. "No. My boys are too scared of me, and they'll spread their panic to the rest. Moreover, your brother would kill them."

Betsy arched a thin, inquiring eyebrow. "And Scott?"

A lewd, wide grin split Jean's face. "If he peeks" she sang "I'm not telling."

The blonde girl laughed as her fingers buttoned her shirt. "You're a devil."

Jean laughed. "And you a butterfly." She closed her mouth abruptly. Her cheerful countenance was now serious and thoughtful. "In the astral plane, you're a purple butterfly, but my shape is a flaming firebird. I wonder what it'll be owing to-"

Wanda smoothed her clothes and tossed her chocolate curls backwards. "Forget it. We have the afternoon to ourselves, and I want going out of the mansion. Would you mind showing us the town, Jean?"

The redhead girl tied carefully her shoelaces before looking up. "I've got a better idea. The ten of us can go to the mall." The rumble of a frightened, hurried race and the noise of hands struggling frantically with a telekinetically locked doorknob sounded across the screen.

Jean sat up, whistling innocently. "Resistance is futile and escape impossible. If someone runs away, I'll personally hunt him down and deal with accordingly. Are we clear?"

A chorus of groans, squeals and protests echoed from the other side. She grinned sadistically.

An hour later, ten mutant teenagers were crowded in front of the mall. The ride had amazingly been peaceful and uneventful. Such ominous calm was very eerie to Scott, and he stared obsessively skywards, searching for the cloud of impeding doom chasing them. Some shit was about of going on. He was downright SURE.

Piotr scratched thoughtfully his huge chin. "So this is what an American capitalism sanctuary looks like."

Betsy shook her head. "So this is what an American mall is like."

Bobby gazed at her horrified and affronted. "This isn't just a mall. It's OUR mall"

She shrugged, actually calculating how much she'd spend. "And why is it so special?"

Warren mimicked her shrug, shoulders and wings moving at unison beneath his suit. "It's the only mall in Salem Center where we haven't been banned from so far. We use to come down here to buy supplies as Slim tortures customers with mindgames, Red puts perverts through walls, Bobby gets in mischief and Hank uses my fear to malls against me. Not matter what we do, the salesmen look always at the other side."

Betsy grinned sarcastically, and curling a blonde strand around her finger, opened her mouth to state some slandering barb. Jean's strong and enthusiastic voice stopped her.

"Stop that and let's get on with it!" She voiced impatiently. The telepath latched her strong arms around Scott and dragged him in the mall. The whole crowd sighed, and followed Jean.

They had barely barged in the place when a crackling thunder burst out, reverberating ominously through the sky. People stared upwards in amazement. There were no clouds at anywhere.

Two hours later the group was still meandering in the place. The girls strode in the forefront of the crowd, chattering happily with each other. On the other hand the boys trudged along with theirs heads bowed, hiding their downcast expressions. Boredom bordering on madness was weighing them down. Piotr, Hank and Warren were swaying unsteadily as their arms carried dozens of bags and held towers of colorful packages, which tottered dangerously on uneasy balance.

The partially exultant, partially disheartened team was marching along a hallway, when they walked by a shop window that displayed shelves with rows of thick books.

Barely Scott and Jean spotted the bookstore, a wicked gleam drifted wildly in his red shades and her green eyes, and a giddy grin tugged upwards their corners' lips. Instantly they rushed in the shop, making a two-person stampede.

Betsy, Wanda, Pietro, Piotr and Kurt gaped amazed. Warren, Hank and Bobby released tired sighs and shook their heads simultaneously. Their faces displayed deadpan nonchalance.

"Forget about them. Sooner or later they'll crawl out of it." Warren muttered. "What do we do now?"

Bobby yawned. "Can we stop by some coffee shop and eat something. I'm hungry!" And bored, but he didn't mention it.

Pietro nodded. "Eat would be fine. Besides, I have to go out and breathe fresh air."

Muffled Hank's voice sounded behind the heap of assorted packs his wide arms transported awkwardly. "Our wise leader has spoken. Shall we satiate our cravings in Coffee A Go Go or Harry's Hideaway?"

Warren dwelt on it. "Harry must be wondering where we have been the last weeks."

Hank repressed his urge for nodding. "We must reassure him with our presence. Otherwise, so much tranquillity and peace will kill him."

"Then it's settled!" Bobby pumped up his fist. "Let's go!"

He boiled with so much youthful cheerfulness his friends laughed.

Jean ignored the gleeful, greedy smirks the salesmen got when they invaded the store, and leafed through her book. Her careful hands weighed the volume as her fingers stroked tenderly the dustcover and the spine. They'd already raided the History, Geography, Biology, and Novel sections, and Scott was right now inspecting cookbooks. The cook had evicted him from the kitchen yesterday, and she had mumbled in passing that he was unable of cooking anything edible. Of course he HAD that prove her wrong now. She sighed. That man could...

"I burnt water only once!" An indignant voice sounded behind her. Before Jean turned around, her boyfriend had circled her thin waist with one arm, drawing her in him. She could feel the weight of his chin on her shoulder and the intensity of his look as he scanned attentively her reading material.

"Mythologies of the World." He read the title. "Another book more of that? It's all you read of late."

Jean nodded. "I'm investigating ancient Egypt to find hints about Apocalypse. If that bastard is as old as he claims, he'll have left any kind of mark in the history. And perhaps some clue to defeat him..."

Her voice trailed off softly, as a painting on the book caught her enthralled eyes. It displayed the image of a golden, hawk-like bird with long flowing tail, unfolding its wide wings and soaring amidst an inferno of blistering blazes. Jean was marveled with the delicate beauty of the drawing. The artist depicted the raptor with an uncanny aura of inner majesty and grace. The animal seemed alive, fluttering wildly its wings and shrieking challengingly with its sharp beak. The orange, red and amber were so bright and lively she could nearly feel the heat, and theirs golden glow reflected on her green eyes as she gazed at it with charmed fascination.

Life. Death. Rebirth. An endless cycle. The arising of a new life beyond the ashes of death. For some reason, she had been obsessed with that myth since her infancy. She was especially intrigued in the reason of that symbol existed in at least six cultures on the planet.

Scott noticed her bewitchment, and he considered a challenge start her out of it.

Abruptly Jean felt light fingers sliding along her ribs and tickling her. She all but dropped the book with the start and tried escape, but Scott seized her firmly and increased his merciless onslaught. Jean wished elbowing his belly, but she couldn't even stay upright. Her knees gave out and she slumped over Scott, who went on tormenting her with a smug, evil grin sparkling on his usually serious face.

"You're so dead, Summers! Let me go now!" She protested among uproarious giggles. Tears brimmed on her eyes and her jaw hurt. She twisted her body but he held her firmly as his nails racked her ribcage, sides and armpits. "Stop right now or I'll drag you to the Romantic Poetry section!"

"Ha! Little prize to pay!" He chuckled sardonically. He loved winning.

Betsy lifted her arm, drawing the waitress' attention. "Excuse me. May I get another cup, please?"

"Of course." The young woman smiled and poured sweet-flavored green tea in the mug. Betsy inhaled the steam with a deep intake, relishing on its scent filling her nostrils. Feeling relaxation soothing her limbs, she brought the cup at her pale pink lips and sipped quietly. Meanwhile Wanda engulfed a toasted croissant.

She had to admit that place wasn't bad. The shop was well illuminated, the walls were painted with a nice hue, the tables and chairs were comfortable, the waiters were kind, and the owner had welcomed them with open arms. Her only grief was they had to split the group and sit in two different tables. The six boys were gathered in the next booth as Wanda and she were having lunch quietly.

Her teammate sat up, mumbling something about restroom, and she left the booth. Betsy nodded idly and focused her mind newly in the tea. She was deeply drawn in intense reflection, when a sudden stir on the psychic atmosphere startled her. She sensed alarm, apprehension and indignation. Coming from Wanda. Betsy spun around to see her friend was surrounded by a group of tall, muscular boys.

Wanda was a gorgeous girl, but she had lived in Balkan tiny villages and wasn't used to draw bold and forward boys, so she was hesitant, apprehensive. Betsy noticed she stepped back and knew they'd caught her off-guard. She narrowed her pretty eyes, scanning the crowd. Their faces were friendly and grinning, but she sensed the vibes they were giving off, the lurid thoughts lurked in their reptilian minds.

And above all she was glancing at Pietro out of her eye's corner. His glaring, bloodshot eyes were trained on the boys. And his fist had clutched his glass with such strength he had shattered it. The jagged shards sliced his hand and dropped on the floor with a persistent clink, and his fingers were dripping thick orange juice and blood droplets. But he didn't seem realize it. Betsy regarded his eyebrow's nervous twitch and she realized she had stop Wanda's harassment, or they'd have to look for spots to hide several corpses.

The English telepath pushed backwards her chair and bolted to stand next to the brunette gypsy. She faced the mob with her arms stuck to her sides and fists clenched. Her lips were a tight, determined line and a spark shone with fierceness on her narrowed eyes. "Are you getting any trouble, Wanda?"

One of them -a tall, bulky, blond boy- looked her up and down. "I don't think having met you earlier. Are you a new-comer in the town?"

Betsy saw the leer beneath his puny layer of affability, and acknowledged his words' true meaning. He was delighted of having found another 'hot stuff', and he was pondering ways to get in her pants. She repressed a grimace of repugnance and disdain.

"No, we haven't met earlier, and I'm in a hurry now. Let's go, Wanda." Betsy grasped her friend's arm and steered her back to the booth.

A strong and rough claw grabbed harshly her wrist, tightening his firm grip.

"Hold on, little-" The outraged boy started talking, when a hand grabbed his forearm and squeezed. A faint crunch sounded, and he squealed in pain, loosening his hold. Betsy jerked free her arm and turned around.

Warren grabbed roughly his shirt's front and hoisted him up. Theirs eyes connected and Angel pinned him a heated, baleful glare. Betsy gaped at the sight. She knew Angel was cynical and temperamental but she hadn't imagined his anger made him so frightening. And quick. He had come ahead of Pietro, she noticed with amazement.

Meanwhile the man was staring straight at Warren's eyes. Two bluish orbs glowing with smoldering fury. He gulped nervously. He didn't need look around to know his chummy pals had fled hastily.

"H... Hi, Worthington. I didn't know you were here."

Foreboding, silent pause. "Obviously." Warren grated.

"And I d-didn't know that girl was your friend."

"Oh, so that you're sorry for getting me angry, not for bothering a girl." He bristled. His eyes narrowed in thin slits. "You'll never learn, will you, Roberts? Boys, enlighten him."

Warren whirled around and tossed him scornfully in the waiting Hank's arms. Beast and Iceman slid their arms around his shoulders and dragged him wordlessly towards the restaurant's door, followed closely by an intrigued Pietro. Neither of them paid attention to his bloodcurdling screams and weeping pleas.

A soft smirk parted Angel's lips as he observed his friends leaving the store with their victim and their ally in tow. His sharp glance swiveled at Betsy. "I know you didn't need help to get ridden from that scumbag, but that idiot annoys me."

The unexpected, blunt statement prompted a perplex blinking from Psylocke. Then she laughed. "That does two of us. Who he is?"

"Him? His name is Ted Roberts. He hit on Jean once with his charming, nice self and she wiped the floor with his face. The four of us stalked him later and beat him up when there wasn't any witness. Slim looked after personally he was incapable of breeding."

Betsy ignored whether being amazed or amused or panicked. "Do you give that treatment to everybody?"

Warren shook his head in denial. "Only to any dick-for-brains who is stupid enough to harass Jean and any X-girl like." His upper lip curled in disgust. "Perverts. I can't stand them."

She offered him a quizzical glance. "You don't? Of what I've heard you go out every day with a different girl."

He chuckled with bitterness. "I don't like getting hurt. So I date brainless bimbos without caring for them, and they'll gloat about having dated Warren Kenneth Worthington the Third without caring a damn for me. It's a mutually benefit deal."

His jaw set in a firm line, and his glare drilled the floorboards as his fists clenched and unclenched. Betsy reeled from the powerful emotions welled from him as a stream. A tide of sarcasm, tiredness, fury, sourness. And above all, grief and loneliness shading all of it. He needed be loved, but he had got so many stabs on his back he didn't dare to look for someone.

She laid tentatively a hand on his shoulder, wishing reassuring him with her gentleness. "Do you want sitting in our booth and talking about it? Or anything else?"

Wanda interjected abruptly. "It'd be a good idea. I haven't finished my meal yet, and I get the paranoid feeling of something is about of happening..."

A massive boom exploded, followed by a racket of screams and yells reverberated from the street. Through the glossy and wide pane they saw a tide of rushed, frightened people running away.

"Something like that?" Betsy stated dryly, and Warren rolled up his eyes. There isn't such thing as 'paranoia' when you are an X-Man. "Let's pay the dinner and look for a street alley. Hank and Bobby must be already changing costumes."

Wanda shot a warning glance at Nightcrawler. "Kurt, take care the bags."

Kurt banged his forehead on the table. Repeatedly.

The street shivered with the footsteps of a towering, nightmarish beast. A four-legged, stout monster of coriaceous brown skin and misshapen head with a gaping maw. Rows of fearsome bony spikes jutted out of his scale-covered, rocky hide and crossed it from the neck to the tailbone. Its fore legs ended in two claws of long nails and its hind legs in hooves left deep cracks on the asphalt. Its enormous size dwarfed the cars, but oddly the beast didn't cast shadow as it walked, punishing the concrete with its paws.

A sizzling fireball fell from the sky, enveloped in melting heat and glowing brightness, and pierced the monster's midsection to explode on the floor in a shower of flickering embers. The monster's figure began to flicker, losing color and solidity, and vanished. That creature had never existed.

When the mirage faded as dew, several figures replaced it. Several men of different sizes, carrying leather bags on his hands. Bags stuffed with wads of bills peeked out of the strained zips. The tiniest of them was a short, stout, brown-haired guy with disproportionate limbs. The biggest one was a huge, fat man, with a gelatinous belly writhed at each step, dressed with a black bodysuit. Another was a bald and thin man, wearing mask and a baggy outfit stripped with gaudy colors. Next to him strode a tall and muscular man of raven hair and grim countenance. And ahead of them marched an ugly man, with lanky hairs and long mustache, dressed with brown clothes.

"Do you see now, Mastermind? I said you that trick would draw too much attention." The fourth man voiced.

"Fuck you, Unus." Mastermind snarled and steered his attention to the redhead girl who was levitating towards the ground, circling an arm around a boy's waist to hold him. A faint golden nimbus surrounded them and several bags floated behind them. His eyes narrowed in a dirty, but inquisitive, glare.

Across the street Cyclops and Marvel Girl touched the tough pavement with their feet and crouched in fighting stances simultaneously. "I knew it was an illusion." Jean mumbled as she cracked her knuckles and built up her power. "There wasn't any brain into that thing, not even reptilian."

"Knowing that is a relief, Marvel Girl" A light-blue blur of speed whipped them with the wind its trail arose, and Quicksilver stood beside them. The remainder X-Men arrived shortly after, clad in fighting costumes.

Bobby frowned and a blue sheen of frostbite swirled around his fists. "Who are those creeps anyway? They seem circus freaks."

"Eh!" The shortest man yelled, bouncing over and over. "Maybe I'm a creep, and maybe I seem a circus freak, but... but..." His voice trailed off. "Did he say anything else, Blob?"

"Shut up, Toad!" His massive and overweight partner roared. "Let's beat those brats and get out of here, guys!" His hands twitched and closed relentlessly like if he was yearning for clutching on someone.

Without further words, both groups charged at each other. Colossus headed instantly for Blob, and threw a powerful punch in his underbelly, pulling back his strength to no kill him. His strike connected, but the layers of fat cushioned the impact and clung on his forearm. Piotr gasped, shocked of seeing his arm sunk in viscous Blob's stomach, stuck into that mass of adipose flesh. He struggled to extract his limb, but it was deeply imbedded in the abdomen.

Blob grinned and backhanded Colossus off-handily. He crashed on the floor and winced. His jaws ground together in ache. The hit hadn't harmed his metallic frame, but his head was reeling. An ugly, greasy smile lighted up his foe's lips as he stared him down.

"Dork! Nobody can move me as my feet are touching the floor!" Fred J. Dukes laughed.

Scarlet Witch, who was observing the fight from afar, smirked. Flinging forward her hands, she fired her power around Blob's legs. Abruptly the floor rose and fell as a wave, throwing Blob upwards violently.

He yelped when someone grabbed roughly a fistful of his suit. With a fearful, sinking feeling, he peeked upwards. His eyes met grim Colossus' face, which was glowering and seething with fresh rage. With a silent, murderer glare, Piotr reared his fist and hit Blob, sending him far, far away.

Wanda laughed as she watched his corpulent but obese body streaking across the clouds and tracing a downward loop. She was so absent-minded that she didn't see Kurt lunging at her and tackling her, at the same time a bang exploded and a hissing bullet sliced the air right above her head. Their tangled bodies landed unceremoniously on the tough asphalt, and she laid a shivering hand atop her forehead. A slight, slashing scratch stung as hell with throbbing hurt.

Kurt straddled over her body to check her state. A relieved smile soothed his fretful, anxious features before rage replaced it. Briskly he flexed his knees in a crouch and spun around to face their assailant with a piercing glare. His fanged mouth let out a bestial, terrific snarl as he squinted at the shooter.

"Murderer trash!" He growled. Inwardly he was feeling the same blinding fury and seething anger he had felt in Germany, chased by men and fire and fear and fanaticism. "How do you dare?"

The bald, brittle man uttered a mild profanity and holstered his long gun, still steaming from the shoot. He threw at Nightcrawler a frown wrinkled further his withered face and he vanished suddenly. He didn't flash or shimmer or was swallowed in smoke. He simply vanished.

Kurt narrowed his eyes. An ominous amber glow glinted on them. "So that's your game, mein freund?"

With those acrid, menacing words, sulfur and brimstone burst around him.

Wanda crawled back on her feet, ignoring the pounding ache on her head. She was glancing dizzily at the lavender billows floated on the air, remnants of Kurt's teleport, when a racket drew her attention.

Warren was kneeled on the floor, with his wings bent in an awkward angle and clutching his blond head. Beside him crouched her brother, glaring forward and gripping his fists in impotent fury. In front of them stood the man named Unus. With his arms folded in front of his chest and a haughty, relaxed stance, he was glancing down at them with indifferent, haughty contempt.

"You're wasting your time, idiots. No one can break my force field. For that I'm the mightiest mutant ever."

"Moron." Angel mumbled, rising his head. His eyes showed the pain of a splitting headache hammering his temples, but he managed glaring at him. "Sue Richards has a force field capable of enduring a Hulk's beating, and she doesn't brag around telling how cool she is."

Quicksilver snickered, and leering newly at his enemy, got ready to attack again. Though a slender hand laid on his shoulder and a violet, female shadow slipped between them. Betsy. Pietro eyed her cautiously and flinched. Her smug face was lit up with a very scary smirk. A very eerie, twisted grin.

"Hold on, Pietro. Mere physical force won't damage his shield. Leave it in my hands."

Unus peered with curiosity and certain distrust at the self-assured girl of broad smile combed downwards her wavy blond locks in a playful manner. "And who you are?" He demanded.

Her grin widened. A purple blaze danced on her eyes. Instantly he howled in excruciating pain, feeling thousand daggers stabbing his head.

Betsy narrowed her eyes in slits, noticing the air wavering and gleaming around him, and bolted onwards, tensing her fist, trying using again her new power. A dagger-like flare flashed around her knuckles and she slashed downwards. Her psychic blade drew a dazzling loop, disrupting the field's energy and breaking its flow, smashing the shield in translucent smithereens.

Unus sensed the backlash blowing his brain with overwhelming strength, and he stepped back, clutching his skull. Warren's fist struck his lower jaw with enraged vengeance and Pietro pounced on him.

Far from them, Wanda smiled with the sight of her brother unleashing his anger on the mutant. Glad of seeing the situation under control, she steered her eyes at other battle. Scott and Jean were cornered in a wall, fighting against something she couldn't see. Fear and fury shone on their constricted features.

Her lips opened with a faint gasp of realization. They were being attacked by another illusion. And how they couldn't deduce reality from lie, they didn't dare to strike back aggressively.

Her mesmerizing dark eyes searched for the man capable of spawning those deadly mirages. She spotted him across the street, staring at the two teens with a filthy smirk twisting his ugly features. There was something sinister and dark and fowl in that face struck Wanda with an icy dread. She hurled a hex sphere at him.

Mastermind was focused in romping gleefully with both youths' minds, tasting the thrill of rocking their brains and ravaging theirs heads with impossible and unbreakable hallucinations, when a sudden force yanked his cloak upwards and wrapped the fabric around his head.

Spitting a muffled curse, he pulled back his brown robe just in time to watch a giant firewall rushing towards him and slamming him on a wall with crushing, burning force. As his knees gave out and he slid to the littered floor, he hurled a hate-filled, burning glare at the redhead girl. She was aiming her open palms towards him, glaring back with an unyielding look and enfolded in a fading nimbus of orangish brightness. Her long mane was floating back over her shoulders.

"Your little bitch- Argh!" A crimson blast pummeled his body, rendering him unconscious.

Scott glared savagely, with clenched fists, at the loathsome shape prostate among scattered debris.

"No one messes with her. Understood?" He grated. With a last baleful glower he turned at the brunette who was approaching both resolutely. Wanda raised a hand in greeting and smiled faintly.

"Thanks for the help, Wanda" Jean smiled back. "We knew it was an illusion but we couldn't break it."

"And we were afraid of hurting someone if we struck back. And I'm sure of that jerk was looking forward to it." Scott muttered. The girls nodded sagely. That man... his greedy, evil leers... gave them creeps.

Jean shut intensely her eyes and shuddered. "Now we've taken care of that issue, what do we do?"

Scott glanced sideways at the direction where Beast and Iceman were surrounding Toad. "We sit down and watch the show." He deadpanned sarcastically. The girls giggled and he merely shrugged.

Meanwhile the mutant runt was hopping, bouncing and flipping with amazing agility, dodging the snowballs and ice spikes blasted from Iceman's fingers as he tried scamper off them and escaping right away. Though there wasn't place where Beast couldn't chase him, and his endurance was wearing off quickly. He needed distracting him, confusing him.

Ducking from a glacial blizzard of ivory snow, he opened his mouth and his long and sticky tongue stretched outwards as a red whip, slapping Hank's face with his gluey tip and smearing it with glistening drool. His lengthened muscle recoiled backwards instantly, but a steel vice-like fist clamped it and squeezed tightly. Using his tongue as a whip, a very annoyed Hank McCoy slammed Toad brutally on the roadway. Bobby exploited the chance to freeze air around him in a coffin of solid, glossy ice.

Sprawled on the floor and encased in a crust of chilled humidity, Mortimer felt impeding doom. Hank advanced slowly towards him, managing a grim glare despite his face and mask were laden with viscous slobber.

"I don't get paid enough for this." Toad croaked hurriedly before a well-placed kick sank him in oblivion.

Hank proceeded to wipe the blotches of dense saliva smudged his face as he glared at slumped Toad's shape, numb and motionless over the sidewalk. Part of him felt tempted of kicking the buffoon again. Actually he ached for doing it. But it was a tiny part.

His mind was more troubled with his last stammered phrase. Were those misfits working for someone? Who might that person be and what purpose harbored? Steal anything or testing the X-Men?

While he pondered the doubts churning in his brain, his teammates came closer to him.

Telfford Porter, bank-robber and costumed villain named Vanisher, regarded from a roof the streets below him. Undaunted by the height and the wind flapping his robes, he watched closely the scene unfolding on the winding road. His partners had been knocked out or seized, and the brats were relatively unscathed and crowding together. He pondered his options. He could shoot them from his parapet, or he could run away right now. Since he didn't care for his allies and his marksmanship left a lot to be desired, he was settling for the second...

"Planning going to anywhere?" A throaty voice rasped right behind him, starting him. He spun around to find Nightcrawler perched on the roofing. His four limbs touched the brick's surface, flexed and ready to pounce on his prey, and his prehensile tail coiled and curled in a tense, rage-filled movement. Anger blazed on his golden eyes narrowed in slits.

Both mutants' eyes connected for a millisecond. And something in Kurt's glare, something incensed and outraged churning and pulsating underneath the superficial rage, infused a staggering, abject terror in Vanisher. Cowed and fear-stricken, the bald mutant teleported out of that place instantly.

A second's fraction later he materialized on a nearby alley, darkened for buildings' shadows and sheltered from curious eyes. He exhaled a sigh of relief.

One second later a hard fist smashed his jaw, and his back hit a wall. Awareness left him and his fainted body landed on the murky, filthy floor with a thud.

Kurt grinned with smug complacency, undeterred by the itch on his fist. He massaged soothingly his knuckles, almost regretting having hit him so strongly. Almost. "I'm a teleporter too, dummkopf. You can't run away from me."

A slight and repeated clicking perked up his pointed ears. Kurt Wagner turned around warily and stared upwards.

A man was taking snapshots of him. With his feet planted on a tall ledge. And he was hanging upside down, stuck to the inferior rim. Kurt was got used to climb the wall -literally-, but he was feeling dizzy just staring at that stranger.

The man -he couldn't tell his age since a red-and-blue outfit dressed his full body- stopped photographing him and stored his tiny device inside a fold on his belt. He looked straight at him, scrutinizing him gingerly. His mask's large and blank eyes unsettled greatly to Kurt. He shivered.

"Great work, guys. You have future beating loonies in underwear." The costumed man complimented before flinging sideways an arm. A weird and thin string shot out of his wrist, flew across the alley and was attached to a gutter.

"Wait a minute!" Kurt yelled. "Who do you-"

"A friendly neighbor. See you later!" The man hopped off the wall and swinging on his rope, he swayed out of the alley. He turned around the corner, and Kurt didn't see it any more.

Nightcrawler, blinked, perplexed. He remembered now. That guy was supposed to be a New Yorker hero. According some newspapers at least. However the reason of his presence in Salem Center, capturing the fight on film, remained dark and unknown to him.

"America is full of weird people or it's only my imagination?" He mused, shaking his head in disbelief.

Notes: Ted Roberts isn't an original character but he showed up during the early years -although he wasn't so jerk-. I thought making a reference to X-Men: Evolution and using Duncan Matthews in that scene, but I doubt it'd look good after vowing repeatedly that my story isn't based on that cartoon.

That Mutant Brotherhood line-up has never existed in the comics but his members did: Vanisher showed up in UXM 2, Blob in UXM 3, Toad and Mastermind in UXM 4 and Unus in UXM 8. By the way, who do you believe gathered that Brotherhood? First Hint: He/she isn't Magneto or Mystique. Second Hint: I've not said he/she isn't a shape-shifter.

Next Chapter: The X-Men have fared well his battles so far. Though they haven't gone through excruciatingly tough fights and they have always beaten up his enemies using sheer numbers force. What will happen when Apocalypse himself strikes New York? Will they be able to prevail? 


End file.
